


The Pursuit of the Whole

by AlamoGirl80



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Beauty and the Beast fairytale references, Pining, Post Battle of Five Armies, Romance, Soul Bond, absence makes the heart grow fonder, epic misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlamoGirl80/pseuds/AlamoGirl80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Love is the pursuit of the whole" - Plato</p><p>Some things, Bilbo learned, are simply not meant to be parted. </p><p>A case in point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completed work that will be updated at regular increments. It's also my first attempt in this fandom, after lurking in everyone else's fics for ages! 
> 
> Basically I'm adding in some very slight "Beauty and the Beast" fairytale references and a bit of soul bonding. I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Unending thanks to superbeta sparklyslug.

 

 _“...and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...”_ – Plato, _The Symposium_

High on the battlements above the main gate of the Lonely Mountain, between the gargantuan stone likenesses of dwarven ancestors, there sat a hobbit.

Book in hand, Bilbo Baggins sighed contentedly as the early spring sun chased the chill of the dark, cold mountain from his bones. Hobbits simply weren’t made for prolonged time underground; their hobbit holes far too bright and airy in comparison to the dwarf’s great kingdom.

But he did, however, quite enjoy the grand library, one of the few places untouched by the dragon’s wrath. The plethora of books found inside was enough to lighten Bilbo’s sinking mood.  Even if the book he now held was a rather melancholy tome of love stories, the descriptions rather cut-and-dry, he could read between the lines of the bone-deep longing of star-crossed lovers who outlasted all odds, although their endings weren’t happy ones.

Bilbo never really thought of himself as a romantic, even though he was prone to dashing off on adventures of all things, but he was pleasantly surprised by the amount of stories, ballads and poems in the great library of the dwarves. Who would have thought these stout hearted, rough-hewn peoples would talk of such things as lovesickness and soul mates with such heartbreaking beauty?

Hobbits, in general, told no such stories of bitter longing for the soul of another. Their stories were full of lighthearted fancy; usually love’s sweet dance or chase of youth that blossomed into the enduring faith between two hearts, as he’d seen with his beloved parents. They were happy endings, as far as Bilbo could remember.

Bilbo finished skimming a legend penned by some obscure member of the line of Durin when a cool spring breeze tempted his attention from the dusty pages.

It was coming on two years since the ground had run red with blood and in truth, the rolling hills before Erebor were not completely healed. Dale was little more than a tent city, refugees from Esgaroth crowding into the ruined settlement, skeletons of buildings being erected and thatched houses popping out on the outskirts.  The ground was still dull, the barest sprigs of spring green struggling to break the desolation the dragon had wrought, but like the dwarven people it seemed the very earth was determined to never give up.

Bilbo’s perch was the wide and thick walls of the battlements, close to where the hewn rock melted into the natural landscape of the mountain side and the hobbit made a point of coming here quite often. In the halls deep within the mountain the clangs of the smithies, bellows of orders being shouted and dull roar of reconstruction never ceased. The dwarves scurried to and fro like ants, as many more streamed in every day from the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains.

Bilbo made himself useful where he could, usually in the healer tents or in the kitchens with Bombur, but truthfully, as time wore on, he was starting to feel out of place.

The mountain, once cleaned of the refuse of the dragon’s time, was as beautiful as his companions had attempted to describe, though some of their images fell woefully short. And the awe Bilbo felt upon seeing the throne room for the first time – it’s ceiling so high it disappeared into an abyss and the twinkle of crystals and gems like stars in the sky; the way the mighty crag wove down from that ceiling to create the throne dais as if the mountain herself were pointing to the rightful king – would not soon leave his heart.

But Bilbo was a creature of nature and sunlight and the deep dark of Erebor unnerved him. So he’d set about trying to find a vantage point, out of the way of the dwarves, where he could have a moment to think.

His thoughts often turned westward; to far off green hills and tall oaks of woods. To places beyond the Misty Mountains with little streams that giggled and tripped over smooth stones, where one could find a cool shady spot with a fishing pole and a good pipeweed.

Bilbo closed his book and leaned against the wall, cursing himself for forgetting the pipe Bofur had carved him not long after the war. He watched the wagons and the ponies entering and leaving the gates of Erebor in a never ending stream, and sighed.

This place was far too much. Too large, too loud, too dangerous and he was just too small for it all. Bilbo turned his head toward the west, where the sun was making a mad dash for the horizon.

He missed the Shire.

His heart was still being pulled toward home and he wondered how his family and friends were fairing. And yet, something behind his breast bone tugged when he thought of leaving.

“There you are, laddie!”

Bilbo jolted so hard he was in real danger of toppling over the side of the wall. He’d been dangled off these battlements once and once was plenty, _thank you very much_.

He’d just managed to right himself and save his book, when Balin’s hand reached out to steady him.

“Sorry,” Bilbo huffed, swinging his furred feet over the wall’s edge and sliding back to the safety of the floor.

Balin gave him a worried look. “Not exactly the safest place for reading, Master Hobbit. One good gust of wind and over you’d go.”

“I was just enjoying the view and a bit of peace,” Bilbo said, hoping it didn’t sound too curt. He never seemed to be able to linger alone for long before one dwarf or another sought him out. Usually to bring him to the king. Unconsciously, Bilbo’s hand moved over the solid weight in his waistcoat pocket, rubbing it softly.

Bilbo suspected this was Balin’s purpose as well. As the king’s advisor, he rarely saw the old dwarf unless it was some royal business.

But Balin didn’t seem to see anything wrong in Bilbo’s quest for solitude. “Aye, the mountain has come back to life, hasn’t it?” He gave Bilbo a wink and patted his shoulder. “Didn’t expect to be surrounded by this many dwarves, eh lad?”

“No,” Bilbo agreed. “Twelve of them crammed into my hobbit hole were plenty, thank you. I just needed to get a little air. We hobbits are not used to prolonged stays in the dark.”

Balin hummed in agreement as he took out his pipe and lit it. Bilbo eyed the gentle smoke curling from Balin’s lips with envy, wishing for his own pipe. He really needed to start thinking ahead when he dashed from his rooms to escape the gloom.

“I told him that’s why his hobbit tended to go missing from time to time,” Balin said cryptically. “Not used to this, is all.”

He eyed Bilbo and despite the ponderous amount of white hair and beard, the hobbit could detect a mischievous smirk on the dwarf’s lips.

Bilbo frowned. _His hobbit?_ A blush crept up his neck and Bilbo tugged at his cravat subtly. While Balin enjoyed his pipe, Bilbo eyed the battlements for a moment, remembering the darkest day his heart would never forget. Feet scrabbling and kicking for purchase where there was none, a meaty, powerful hand wrapped around his throat and eyes like blue flint, hard and piercing with rage and betrayal.

The rift between he and Thorin was not an easy thing to bridge, especially with the King so injured after the battle. Bilbo himself had not escaped unscathed and between the two of them fighting fevers and meddling dwarf princes, it took a while before either were well enough to visit the other’s tent. 

In the end, it had been Thorin who sought out the halfling, leaning heavily on a crutch and his middle swathed in bandages. Bilbo’s head was nearly cocooned in wrappings but he was stable enough to sit up in fright when the dwarf king appeared at his tent flap. The whole thing had been most awkward and a few times, Bilbo wanted nothing more than to slip on his ring and disappear. But something in Thorin’s eyes stayed him. It was a longing thick with grief and remorse in those blue depths and nothing could have prepared Bilbo for the sight of such a powerful and majestic creature kneeling at his bedside.

Thorin did not beg, but the plea in his voice and the wretched look on his face was clear when he said he hoped the hobbit would consider forgiveness.  

Bilbo had wept openly then, his forehead pressed to the king’s and if there were a few tears streaking the bruised and dirtied face of Thorin, son of Thrain, then Bilbo would not mention it.

After that, well, the awkwardness had returned. Bilbo had stayed at Thorin’s behest to see Erebor rebuilt. But there had never been any formal talks of making it permanent and that Bilbo was to never return to the Shire. Bilbo had tried to bring it up a time or two, only for Thorin to deftly and sometimes forcefully change the subject.

Bilbo was caught in a fierce current of emotions, pulling him this way and that. He cared deeply for Thorin, more than he could probably express in coherent words and he knew the King cared very much for him.

But were they courting? Bilbo half suspected they were, given all the gifts of furs, clothing and finely-wrought jewelry he found waiting for him in his rooms every evening. But Thorin had made no formal declaration. Their touches were chaste and fleeting, though the king seemed to forcefully reign himself back every time Bilbo thought he was about to be kissed. Of course, that could just be Bilbo’s overactive imagination.

The poor hobbit didn’t know if this was just the hospitality a King bestowed on cherished friend who’d helped save his kingdom, or… something deeper.

And then there was the way Thorin looked at him at times. Like he wanted to burn into Bilbo’s very soul and claim every inch of it, and oh how it made the hobbit’s chest seize up and his breathing hitch.

Balin was looking at him strangely.

“I’m sorry, you were saying?” Bilbo fumbled with his book and took a steadying breath to banish the distracting thoughts from his head.

Balin smiled again with an infuriatingly knowing look that reminded the hobbit a bit too much of a certain wizard.

“I was saying that Thorin’s meetings with Dain should be finished within the hour. He’ll be lookin’ to dine with ya this evening if you’re amenable to it.”

“Oh,” Something like excitement settled in the hobbit’s stomach despite his muddled thoughts. It would be good to see Thorin.

Bilbo looked up at the sun again and realized it was nearly tea time. “Yes, yes. That’s fine. I should probably see to tea, if Bombur is of a mind to let me have a little space in the kitchen.”

Dwarves, by nature, didn’t keep to tea time and though his company certainly knew of Bilbo’s wont for keeping to his seven meals a day, with Erebor in such disarray, the hobbit was willing to be lenient. But he wasn’t about to give up tea. Bombur oversaw the royal kitchens and with so many mouths to feed, the place was little more than organized chaos and the oversized dwarf could be a bit territorial.

But Bilbo thought he could finagle little counter space and a kettle to boil.

Reluctantly, Bilbo cast one last glance over the shoulder toward the western sky and followed the old dwarf back into the shadow of the mountain.

 

TBC...


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add in disclaimers: I do not own. Peter Jackson and Mister Tolkien, however, do. 
> 
> I guess I should mention that I have a deep abiding and ridiculous love for Kili and Fili and in my headcanon, they pretty much adore/crush on Bilbo. So, yeah, be prepared for the entrance of the two adorably Dim Ducklings in this chapter. 
> 
> Also, you guys are amazing and ridiculous and I never expected to get this many kudos and hits on this first chapter. Now I'm nervous that I will measure up to expectations. Comments and critiques are welcome!

“By the Maker, Bilbo, but you are a hard one to find!”

This time, Bilbo did not startle.

He’d found a new perch, this time on the western side of the mountain. After spying an unusual bit of light seeping into the corridor outside the great library, Bilbo made a particularly arduous climb up a staircase that looked as if were about to crumble and discovered a small doorway cut from the outer mountain wall. It was probably an old vent that had been cut to let in fresh air, and had been sealed since before the Great Calamity. But with new construction absolutely everywhere, the old vents had to be reopened, which was fortunate since once a dwarf door was closed, none could find it again.

(Unless you had a key and an insane amount of luck)

The hobbit looked up from his book and pipe to the youngest of the dwarf princes, who was looking rather chuffed to have found the halfling’s hiding place. Not that he was hiding, exactly. But Bilbo did feel the weight of the Ring in his pocket rather keenly at the moment, wondering how hard it would be to blink out of existence under Kili’s nose.

When the youngest of the line of Durin sought you out, there was little to be done but grin and bear it.

Kili looked down the stairs and called to his brother, for where there was one, the other was not far behind.

“Found’im!” He looked down at Bilbo again before glancing out over the edge of the tiny nook in which the Halfling had settled. “Whatch’ya doing up here, Bilbo? Drafty, isn’t it?”

“And dusty,” piped in Fili, who’d trudged up the last step behind his brother. He ran a finger over the cut stone of the door and wrinkled his nose. “Could be dangerous up here. Walls’ve been cut open out of necessity and without much support.”

“That staircase isn’t anything to praise either, brother,” Kili muttered looking down the half-crumbled assent.

“Aye,” said Fili. “Should let Glóin know to send the builders up here straight away. Mend this before our dear burglar has himself a fall and cracks that pretty head again.”

Fili leaned forward to ruffle Bilbo’s hear affectionately, but Bilbo involuntarily tensed. He was well used to the brothers’ rather hands-on displays of affection and most of the time he appreciated it, he really did. But today Bilbo’s spirit was a bit prickly and melancholy.

He’d really just wanted a little space to himself where the sun could find him but where his dwarven friends could _not_.

“Must you?” Bilbo muttered, batting the eldest prince’s hands away.

Fili chuckled indulgently and slid down the wall to sit against Bilbo’s side. “We must.”

Kili offered a smug grin and crouched to sit opposite Bilbo, mindful of the drop-off bare inches from them. Bilbo grumbled as he knocked out his pipe against the stone, thinking his private nook had become far too crowded. Certainly not made for two burly, pushy dwarves and one put-out hobbit.

“Come now, Bilbo,” Kili tried, after listening to Bilbo huff about over-bearing dwarves. “We’ve not seen you in days! Is this were you’ve been hiding?” He craned his head to look over the ledge. “Bit dodgy, yeah?”

“Didn’t think you fancied high spots,” said Fili.

“Certainly not after your little tumble off that mountain–"

“With the stone giants–"

“No one around here to dive off the cliff for ya this–"

Bilbo’s book slammed shut with a frustrated _blam_ that broke the two brother’s out of their tag-team repartee.  Pinching his nose, Bilbo felt an ache settle behind his eyes.

“I am not fond of heights, no,” he grumbled, fixing each brother with a glare that he hoped rivaled their uncle’s. “But I _am_ fond of sunlight and privacy and a good book, which I’d really like to get back to, if you don’t mind.”

He’d dropped the hint about as subtly as a lead weight. It went unheeded. Not surprising, really.

Fili chose to dig in Bilbo’s small rucksack that he’d packed with a few snacks for his little reading sojourn and pulled out an apple. With a small _snicking_ sound, he produced a tiny blade from his boot and began casually slicing the apple into pieces, munching happily on one and flipping another to Kili.

The younger caught it and popped the whole thing in his gob, crunching loudly.

“But we’ve missed you, Bilbo.” And oh, but Kili could charm the lords of the Valar with those eyes; huge, dark and pleading. “You’ve not been to dinner with Uncle in three days and every time he’s sought you in your chambers, you’ve been gone.”

“Well I’m not about to stay shut up in my rooms all day, am I?” Bilbo answered smartly. Nice as those rooms were – luxurious even – they still felt too much like a cave.

“We expected to see you at the opening of the _Gurul_ Market in the Southern Hall,” Fili said, still cutting the apple. “Twas a great event marking the formal opening of the mountain to outside trade.”

Bilbo looked up from his lap and caught Fili’s eye, immediately chagrined. For a moment Fili’s quiet disappointment so reminded Bilbo of Thorin he had to blink and reset his mind. He should have been there. That market had not been open since before the old wyrm took over, and for it to have been rebuilt and reopened was no doubt a momentous occasion. All of his dwarven company would have been there.

Gods, Bilbo had completely forgotten, lost to these old derelict halls, chasing his solitude.

“Oh,” he said lamely. “I’m so sorry. I just… I lost track of time exploring these passages. Please relay my apologies to the others. To Thorin.” He amended.

Kili looked to Fili and then back to Bilbo, and _egad_ , the hurt in the lad’s eyes made Bilbo’s poor heart clench.

“Why can you not tell them yourself?” Kili asked, solemn and quiet. “You’ve been avoiding us for weeks, Bilbo. Even Mister Dwalin has asked after you.”

Bilbo wanted to brain himself against the wall. Had he really been so isolated of late? Thinking back Bilbo was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d shared a kind word with Bofur, or attempted to sort out Bifur’s sign language. They’ve been busy with reconstruction, but the company did try to share a meal ever week or so.

But Bilbo could not remember them sharing a meal such as that in a month or more, busy as everyone was. Bombur he saw in the kitchen fairly regularly, but the rotund dwarf was not one to chat much, being that his mouth was usually full of whatever he was cooking. Balin he’d talked to just last week, but not since.

Dwalin, he was sure, he’d seen a few days past, since the king’s guard was never far from Thorin, but he could not remember the last time they’d actually spoken. Again, not that the huge dwarf was particularly loquacious.

Little Ori might’ve been the only dwarf Bilbo had seen and talked to on a fairly regular basis, since the library was a favored spot. But then Bilbo usually asked Ori for help finding a book and then the dwarf archivist was usually called away by the librarian.

Nori and Dori he’d only seen in passing and other than a clap on the shoulder and a hearty greeting; neither had time to chat, Bilbo figured. Dori worked with Gloin in the restoration and Aulë knew what Nori was up to those days. And old Oín had released Bilbo from his duties as an assistant to the healers once a new caravan arrived from the Blue Mountains.

Thorin.

Bilbo’s heart gave a twinge at the knowledge that it had actually been _four_ days since he’d seen the dwarf king and that said king had been looking for him since. They’d had a rather quiet dinner after his chat with Balin, the silence straining between the conversation and Thorin always looking like he had so many things to tell Bilbo but naught the words to do it with.

He remembered Thorin telling him of the market’s opening and that he’d wished Bilbo to attend… _oh bother_.

“You’re right, Kili. And I’m sorry.” Bilbo deflated a little, his head sinking back to stare at his lap. “I suppose I’m just a bit out of sorts these days, is all. I just wanted a bit of air on my face and sun on my skin.” He looked out over the western landscape, eyes automatically searching over the far mountain peaks. “Sometimes I think this mountain will swallow me whole,” he mumbled without meaning to.

A thick, strong arm snaked behind the hobbit’s shoulders and Bilbo was pulled into the elder prince’s side snuggly. Fili’s other hand closed over Bilbo’s shoulder against his side in a half-embrace.

“Hey now, buck up there Bilbo. No need to sound so bleak,” Fili murmured, giving the Halfling a squeeze that’s just this side of hurting.

Kili scooted forward like he was half thinking of climbing into Bilbo’s lap. The brothers often liked to sandwich the poor hobbit between their bulk but there was no room for Kili to sit on Bilbo’s other side. Instead the younger dwarf reached forward and took Bilbo’s hand off the cover of his book, gripping it tight.

“What’s wrong? We’ve never seen you like this. Not since the journey ended, that is,” Kili asked, an uncommon tender worry in his tone.

Bilbo looked at the lads and felt an emotion he couldn’t name well in this throat. Such dear boys, he thought.

“Nothing, you silly dwarves.” Bilbo put on a front of false cheer, which usually did the trick with those two. “Maybe a bit homesick is all,” he managed a smile.

Kili’s big fretful eyes turned speculative and he tilted his head toward his brother. “He needs a distraction, brother.”

“Aye, brother. A party, perhaps?”

Bilbo’s face fell. When the lads took this tone, he knew he was in trouble. “What? No, no no… I don’t think–"

“Oh it’s already in the making, which you’d know if you’d been to the dedication this morning,” Kili babbled right over Bilbo.

Fili leaned in toward the hobbit still tucked into his side. “Or surely uncle would have told you, if you, well, actually _talk_ when you spend time together…”

The innuendo had Bilbo choking and spluttering, frantically hoping he wasn’t blushing like a full grown idiot.  

“ _Excuse_ me,” Bilbo shoved the larger dwarf hard in the side, causing the prince to lean sideways only marginally. But it was enough for Bilbo to scoot out from under his arm and stand. He raised a finger to wag at the golden prince, up on his dignity already, when he suddenly teetered backward.

Kili and Fili were both in the midst of chortling at the hobbit’s fussy sensibilities when they saw him wobble close to the edge of the tiny ledge’s drop-off. Bilbo wind-milled his arms for a moment before two dwarven paws reached out and snatched him from the ledge.

Bilbo’s head found a home between too ridiculously large chests while two sets of equally big arms wrapped themselves around him and held tight.

“Oi! Alright there, Bilbo?” asked Fili.

Kili clutched a little tighter to the back of the hobbit’s head. Always a bit clingier, the younger prince was. “That was a close one. Do us a favor, yeah? Pick hiding places that are closer to the ground.”

“Or inside,” Fili stated.

“Preferably both,” Kili finished

For the moment, Bilbo allowed to the princes to hold onto him, aware that they must look ridiculous, clinging to each other like a bunch of children. But he’d spent two years with these men, fought beside them, killed beside them. They’d saved his life and he’d saved theirs. And he _had_ missed them, despite the fact they were a couple of oversized headaches on the move.

“I think perhaps you’re right, lads.” And for a moment longer, Bilbo soaked up the princes’ affections before pushing away and glaring. “Now, what’s all this about a party?”

 

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Sparklyslug is the bestest beta in the whole world and her comments on this chapter consisted of screaming at Kili and Fili to "stop flirting you little shits!"


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a party, some sneaking around, some overly-drunk and handsy princes and finally a meeting with the King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really think there should be more stories where Kili and Fili get hilariously drunk. Also, you've got to think that not everyone in the dwarven community is going to think Thorin is the best dwarf to sit on the throne. 
> 
> And YAY for a longer chapter. This was actually one chapter I had to split up because wow, I need to learn when to shut up.

Bilbo fussed with his hair and his new waistcoat. The dwarfs were fine craftsmen of precious stones and jewels, but when it came to the sartorial arts, they had to send for outside help. In this case, tailors from Lake-town who’d taken up residence in Dale and cloth, no doubt shipped in from Bree or farther west, were commissioned to make new clothes for the King’s hobbit.

Bilbo wasn’t sure he liked the terminology, when a female dwarf scullery maid brought his clothes and told him that the king had them made for “his hobbit.” Thorin seemed to be adamant with claiming said hobbit in word, but not in deed, Bilbo sighed at the thought. It was terrible being in a constant sort of limbo with a taciturn dwarf, never knowing exactly where his place was.

Dwarvish utilitarian furs, leathers and chainmail would not have suited, let alone fit Bilbo. But his new waistcoat in a dark shade of russet fit nicely and his new coat was a bit thicker weave, the fabric more robust and finer quality than anything Shire-made. There was even a pocket for his Ring.

Bilbo walked from his rooms and headed for the Great Hall. The echoes of music and dwarvish merriment reverberated off the stone and reminded Bilbo that these dwarves desperately needed this. It was a moment to rejoice in their home, with a little normalcy and ease. The feast soon after the battle had been little more than a pauper’s meal held by those who were barely well enough to stand and toast.

Now was the time to revel in Erebor’s returning glory.

Bilbo’s fingers found his ring, turning it over and over while he walked. He’d not used it in some time. Perhaps it would be nice to slip it on, just for a moment. He knew his companions would swarm him upon entry, likely followed by more dwarves eager to hear tales of the little hobbit from the kindly west who saved their king from the great pale orc.

Bilbo was honestly getting tired of hearing that story, even if he would never forget his abject terror at the thought of losing Thorin.

Nearing the Great Hall, Bilbo took a deep breath and slid the band of gold onto his finger. The world around him turned from the warmed-hued glow of torchlight on dusky stone to the muted greys and silvers of the ring realm. Sounds were muted as well, and since dwarvish victory songs tended to be loud and rather harsh at times, Bilbo was glad.

But the ring realm was tricky. Hard to distinguish faces and voices and something buzzed in Bilbo’s head constantly while wearing his little treasure. Always distracting him just a little, like an insect in his ear.

The hobbit was amazed at how many dwarves inhabited the hall. Low tables were piled high with food such as none had seen before these happier days since the return of the King. Surely this was why the trade wagons had been entering the city non-stop; Bilbo wondered if Thorin had been forced to even trade with the elves for such finery.

Speaking of elves, Bilbo spied a few milling about and towering over the dwarves. He guessed Thorin was actually working on better relations with his neighbors, grudging alliance though it may be.

The thought of Thorin had Bilbo looking around, careful to avoid being trod upon by an unknowing dwarf well into his cups. He scurried to the back of the room, near the food tables and nicked a few tarts and a couple of sausages when no one was looking. He spied Bombur organizing the serving dwarves by waving an enormous turkey leg around like a baton. 

A couple of dwarves Bilbo had never seen ambled up to refill their plates while the musicians hammered out another tune.

“Ol’ Thorin’s spared no expense in putting this little bash together, eh? Bit much for the openin’ of the old Gurul Manar,” said one.

“Aye. But who’s gonna pass up this food and ale? My family’s not eaten so good since leaving the Iron Hills,” said the other.

Bilbo felt pride flood his chest that his king was finally able to provide so well for his people. He knew that was one of the many burdens that weighed on Thorin’s mighty shoulders through much of their adventure: the knowledge that as a king, he should have been able to keep his people whole and hale and with a home to call their own. Bilbo hoped Thorin’s ancestors were looking down with well-earned pride on the line of Durin.

The fatter of the two dwarves gulped down his ale and let out an earth-rattling belch that had Bilbo taking a step back toward the tables.

“Maybe he’s doing it to impress someone. That company of his is sure puttin’ on airs of late, when Dain’s men helped secure this mountain just as much as they did. And Thorin’s group had a Halfling to babysit as well?” the fat one asked, shaking ale from his black beard.

Bilbo looked up from his tart and edged a little closer.

The smaller of the two, a younger dwarf with a slight ginger beard shrugged. “Helped the King with the dragon is what I ‘ear. Don’t rightly see how, though. I saw him once – tiny little thing. Not much bigger than a wee dwarf babe and about as fierce looking.”

Bilbo glared. He’d struck down many a goblin and orc and even killed a warg or two, _thank you_. Of all the races he’d have thought dwarves would appreciate the adage that not all worth is measured in size.

The fat old dwarf laughed, nearly spitting his meat everywhere to Bilbo’s disgust.

“And _that_ is who our king wishes to court?”

The food on Bilbo’s plate suddenly lost its flavor.

“I heard the king was already courtin’ ‘im.”

“Huh,” scoffed the old one. “The Halfling must’ve done somethin’ to catch the king’s eye then. Thorin’s a hard stone, always has been. Must be some heart to the hobbit after all to impress the son of Thrain.”

Bilbo had only a moment to feel a bit of a reprieve from the criticism until the younger dwarf sat back with a leering look.

“Weren’t his blade or ax that done any impressive feats, I can tell ya that! He was a comely little thing, though, what I could tell. Earned his way into the king’s good graces flat on his back, I’d wager.” He elbowed his fat friend who chuckled in agreement. “Wouldn’t doubt most of that Company of Oakenshield’s had a turn or two with that soft little–"

Bilbo had fled then, feeling like he’d be sick any moment. Was this how he was perceived by these so called “honorable dwarves,” whose home he’d nearly died several times trying to reclaim?

He found a corner near the musician’s nook where his harsh breathing would be drowned out. Bent over at the waist, Bilbo tried to regulate his breathing around his churning stomach and aching head. He understood that dwarves were quick to assume and given to unjustified judgment of what they didn’t know or understand. Bilbo had run into that brick wall upon first meeting the company, especially Thorin, so the odd looks and irritated huffs he heard and saw when passing dwarves in these halls wasn’t unexpected.

They didn’t know him, but they would assume he was a soft, weak little creature who rode in on the coattails of better warriors.  And right after the battle, when those he cared most about where fighting for their lives, Bilbo wouldn’t have given toss what unknown dwarves thought of him and his purpose in Erebor.

But he couldn’t help but worry if these base thoughts were common among the returning dwarves. Not for his own reputation so much, although he still liked to think of himself as a respectable hobbit, he knew adventures with dwarves, wars and killing had probably proved different.

But in other things, he most assuredly was a respectable hobbit! He and Thorin hadn’t even properly kissed…

Bilbo leaned his head against the cool stone wall and sighed. Not that he wouldn’t like to… love to even… and Thorin seemed like he was ever on the precipice of devouring the little hobbit whole, but… no. Bilbo wanted to know where he stood and more than that, he wanted to know what Thorin’s true intentions were.

And he wanted to go home. Which would probably muck up everything else on his list of wants and wishes. Blast it all.

When he looked up toward the main stairway that led from the hall into the throne room, Bilbo spotted Thorin.

Bilbo had always quite fancied that old blue great coat with the fur collar that seemed to double Thorin’s impressive breadth and stature. But he felt his pulse quicken and something undefinable pull a little around his heart at the sight of the king now dressed in the most splendid finery of his station: deep midnight blue surcoat with a sable lining, his old leather jerkin traded for a softer, black material that made his chest look wider somehow. Even the steel toes of his boots glittered like diamonds.

Thorin forwent the crown, though Bilbo had seen it. Gandalf had rested it upon the regal and troubled brow once Thorin had healed from his wounds; the first formal ceremony after the mountain was reclaimed. Bilbo wondered if it had belonged to Thrain or if was crafted anew for the new king.

Silver beads were intertwined in Thorin’s braids, his black mane swept back in a half clip similar to Kili’s. He took a stance on the landing of the stairs and said a few words in khuzdul to his people. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered closed at the deep thrum of his voice rolling about the cavern like a controlled avalanche.

The halfling heaved a great sigh. Thorin was so achingly beautiful, in bearing as well as appearance. He realized then that he did not worry that the new dwarves entering the kingdom thought him a plaything for the king’s bed joys. He worried that Thorin might not have his people’s full devotion. If they ever thought him weak…

He had enough trouble quelling the problems with the Men of Lake-town wanting help repairing their city, and it wouldn’t be unheard of for dissenters to enter from the Iron Hills. There were many who thought Dain Ironfoot would make a better king.

Thorin didn’t need a mere hobbit’s company. He deserved better.

Suddenly so depressed he wanted to weep and so homesick he wanted to keep the Ring on and run all the way back to the Shire that night, Bilbo looked away from the great King addressing his people and ran a hand through his hair.

Perhaps he could sneak back to his rooms.

Beside and slightly behind Thorin stood the king’s sister-sons. Both dressed up in fine furs and leathers, even Kili’s wild mop had been tamed if not braided, the two brothers stood tall by their uncle. Bilbo felt a dollop of pride drip over his sadness at how well they looked standing with the head of their royal line.

Then he noticed Kili scanning the crowds with his sharp eyes. Fili’s blue eyes skimmed over dwarven heads as well, searching.

It was when Kili took a step toward his brother, muttered something and then pointedly started looking lower than dwarven heads, as if scanning for someone too short to be seen, that Bilbo understood.

“Oh,” he muttered under his breath. “They’re searching for _me_.”

He’d promised to be here, after all, and here he was, hiding like a craven thief with his magic ring. But after all the maddening thoughts clouding Bilbo’s abused brain of late, worrying for the line of Durin as he was, the hobbit couldn’t find it in his heart to make himself known to the princes just yet.

As Thorin finished his speech with a few words in Westeron about the dawn of a new era for Erebor, the cavern quaking under the uproar and cheers of the dwarven host, the music began again and Bilbo noticed a certain hat bobbing out of the chorus to a nearby table.

Bofur always seemed to calm Bilbo, his kind, generous presence a balm on the hobbit’s frayed nerves even in the darkest hours of their struggle. As Bofur set his recorder down and went for his tankard of ale, Bilbo slipped off the ring.

Bofur nudged his floppy hat to the side as he wiped at his brow before noticing the hobbit standing in the shadows near him.

“Why Bilbo! Mahal’s hammer, lad, I’ve not seen you in an age!” The dwarf clanked his tankard down, spilling ale everywhere and swept the hobbit up in a rib crushing hug before Bilbo had time to answer. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”

Bilbo struggled to squeak around Bofur’s grip, but managed to wiggle free enough that he could return the hug somewhat sedately.

“I’ve missed you as well, Bofur,” he said, hating the way his voice sounded so cast down.

Bofur must have heard it as well and though he was known for being quick to joke, no one could call this dwarf in particular as dense as the others when it came to emotions. The dwarf leaned back from the hobbit, adjusting his grip to Bilbo’s shoulders, and appraised him. His wonderfully expressive brows pinched downward and a frown formed behind his spectacular moustache.

“What’s ailing ya, lad? You’re looking a bit pale,” Bofur bent his knees, leaning down to catch the halfling’s eye, his face going aghast. “Bless me, Bilbo, have you been crying?”

Bilbo huffed a laugh and pulled away. “Certainly not.” Wasn’t a total lie, he’d just managed to control himself before the tears came. Only just. “Just a bit tired lately. And a bit overwhelmed.”

He gestured to the open chorus of drunken singing. “Quite a few more dwarves in one place than I’m used to, is all.”

Bofur tilted his head, clearly not buying what Bilbo was trying to sell. “Aye. You’ve always been a bit fidgety when it came to dwarves and food all in the same place at one time.”

He pulled Bilbo into a one armed embrace that Bilbo, to his amazement, didn’t stiffen under the touch. Bofur always had a way of making him feel comfortable, even if he was as free with his touches as Kili and Fili.

“The King will be right happy you’re here, Bilbo,” Bofur said, nodding toward the dais where Thorin stood with his sister-sons. “Never seen him as disappointed as he was earlier at the dedication ceremony.”

Bilbo’s shoulders drooped and it wasn’t the weight of the dwarf’s arm lowering them. “I know. I’m so very sorry about missing that. My head’s been a bit muddled of late and I seem to be forgetting things I ought to remember.”

“Spent the entire ceremony searching the crowds, he did. Almost forgot to give his speech, for all that he was focused on finding you,” Bofur continued blithely, seemingly unaware of the increasingly agitated hobbit under his arm.

“Yes. I know. I said I was sorry,” Bilbo stated curtly.

Bofur might be charming but he also had a wee bit of a problem knowing when enough was enough in the cajoling department.

“But have you told _him_ you’re sorry, eh?” Bofur jerked his head toward the three Durins and to Bilbo’s horror, Thorin’s face was marred with disappointment even as he continued searching out his hobbit amongst the crowds.

“Didn’t think so,” is all Bofur said before jostling Bilbo against him. “And might I ask what was so consuming to keep you from your company these past months?”

“Now half a moment, you all have been busy rebuilding this entire mountain, have you not? It’s not as if I’m fully to blame here.” Bilbo spluttered.

At that Bofur had the grace to look chagrined. “Aye. True enough, laddie. But that’s no excuse to keep yourself from the king. Thorin, I happen to know from reliable sources, has been attempting to make time to call upon ya nearly every day when his schedule permits. Only all he seems to get for his trouble are empty chambers.”

Bilbo suddenly wanted a pint of ale. Why were they all so deeply interested in how he and Thorin spent their time, together or apart? Suddenly confiding in Bofur his fears of late didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“I didn’t know I was to remain sequestered at his majesty’s beck and call,” Bilbo said and shoved his way from under Bofur’s arm.  He moved away enough to stare at the dais with arms crossed over his chest.

He knew he was being petulant about all this, for all Thorin and the others wanted was to spend time with their former burglar. But even though Bilbo felt like their friendship was strong and never felt anything but care and concern from their king, he felt like spending more and more time with Thorin was just making the inevitable worse.

He had to return to the Shire at some point. And Bilbo feared that when he finally screwed up the nerve to tell Thorin this, it would not likely be well received.

“Here now,” Bofur soothed, “I meant nothin’ by it, really. It’s just…” he shrugged helplessly and Bilbo felt some of his ire draining. “Thorin’s happier when he’s with you. That’s all.”

The hobbit wanted to wilt under that confirmation. Yes, he knew Thorin seemed to smile a little easier when they were together, and Bilbo himself felt like the strange pulling on his heart eased in the king’s presence. But he still felt like something was missing, something that could only be found amongst rolling hills with round little doors cut into them.

Bilbo wished to all the gods he could name that he knew just what in this world he truly wanted.

“So,” Bofur tried again, grabbing his ale and coming up to bump Bilbo’s shoulder gently, as if trying to rouse him from his dreary thoughts. “What have you been up to lately, dear burglar?”

Bilbo, his own mug in hand, set about telling Bofur of his completely dull adventures in the library with Ori, paying little heed when Bifur strolled by and signed something to his cousin behind Bilbo’s back. Bofur just grinned and nodded, waving his ax-riddled cousin away and engaged Bilbo in more idle chatter.

After a while, Bilbo noticed that the dais was empty and as absurd as it might sound, there was a veritable _forest_ of dwarfs that Bilbo had little hope of seeing over to see where the sons of Durin had wondered. Not that he particularly cared. It was getting late and the ale was making him sleepy and overly warm, and Bofur seemed to be crowding him back into their little corner every time he attempted to leave.

“Bilbo!”

The Halfling startled like a spooked colt, sloshing his ale all over his feet as two hard bodies slammed into either side of him, encasing him in dwarf bulk and royal furs. Kili’s smile was nearly blinding and Fili’s eyes sparkled with mirth and quite a bit of ale, Bilbo figured.

“Confound you two! Look at my feet!” Bilbo bemoaned his formerly clean and finely combed fur atop his hobbit feet, now doused in stout.

“Oh, don’t fret so, little burglar,” said Fili

“We’re just happy you came,” said Kili. “And looking so fetching in your new clothes too.”

Kili ran a hand down Bilbo’s new coat, admiring the dwarvish designs and leaning further to pluck at his waistcoat. Bilbo batted his hands away, noting the slight sway to Kili’s bearing that confirmed he’d been into his cups that evening as well.

“Such a lovely coat, Bilbo. Is it one Uncle had made for you?”

“I – yes, he did,” Bilbo managed to dodge Kili’s attempt to knock heads, as he swayed drunkenly over the halfling’s shoulder. He knew it was a dwarven way of greeting and affection but he’d been knocked clean out the last time Kili tried it.

Bofur was absolutely no help. He just stood back and grinned.

“Uncle has fine taste,” replied Fili. He chuckled when the halfling’s head bumped into his shoulder while trying to escape his younger brother’s advance. 

Bookended between the two Durin lads, Bilbo tensed and hunched his shoulders as he felt Fili’s hand card through his curls. He’d spent a good while arranging those too, blast it all.

“Would look even more fetching with a few beads in his hair, eh brother?”

Kili heaved a happy sigh, his arm slipping around Bilbo’s waist and the hobbit jerked and tried to rearrange the dwarf’s grip to something a little more appropriate.

“Aye, brother. A few braids and some golden beads and you would not be able to hold Uncle back for all the riches in Erebor,” the younger dwarf said dreamily.

Bilbo had quite enough.

“Oi, where you goin’ Bilbo?” Kili fumbled out to catch the hobbit as he skittered from between them and nearly doused Bilbo with his mug in the process. Fili was a bit more sedate, allowing the hobbit’s escape in favor of righting his teetering brother.

“I think I’ve had about enough of this party for tonight,” Bilbo said. “There is far too many assumptions flying about concerning your uncle and I and I’ll thank you to keep them to yourself.”

“But, it’s not like it’s a secret that Uncle wants to cor–" Kili’s retort was cut off by his brother shoving his mug in his face, which had the predicted result of ale going everywhere. Kili didn’t seem to mind, gulping down the remainder like a happy, sloppy puppy.

“What he meant to say was we’re happy for you and our uncle, in whatever way you wish to take it,” Fili said with a slight bow.

Soon, Bilbo thought, Fili’s silver tongue would be the death of him.

“Well, be that as it may, I’d rather just leave all the talk of your uncle for another time. I believe I’ll say goodnight, your royal highnesses.” Bilbo gave a cheeky smirk as he bowed formally.

Kili, caught between wiping his face of ale and trying (and failing) to smother a belch, looked dazed for a moment, then desperate when he realized Bilbo was turning to leave.

“Wait!” he said frantically, catching Bilbo’s elbow and nearly crashing into him headlong. “You can’t leave. Not yet, _please_.”

“Yes, I can.” Bilbo stated, growing tired of being yanked about like a doll between two children. “I’m tired.”

“But it’s too early to leave,” said Fili, who’d edged around behind Bilbo to block his escape. “Have you tried the boar?”

“What? No I’m not–"

“The let me get you another pint,” Kili swung wildly toward the table with the ale barrels and grabbed a couple of mugs.

“Kili, if you spill anything else on me, so help me…” Bilbo warned.

“I saw some lovely cakes over there, Bilbo, wouldn’t you like–"

“No, Fili, I’m quite full thank–"

“You must want _something_! Durin’s beard, Bilbo, you usually eat seven times a day,” Kili wailed, looking desperately over his shoulder like something horrible was coming. “You’re not sick, are you?” Wild dark eyes turned on Bilbo and he almost stepped back in fear.

“Kili, I’m fine lad. Calm yourself,” Bilbo tried.

Bofur finally stepped in. “You really should stay, Bilbo. We dwarves are known to celebrate until the wee hours.”

“Normally, we hobbits can dance, drink and make merry until dawns first light. But this hobbit is tired and wants his bed.”

Bilbo artfully dodged reaching hands bent on bringing him back into the ale-soaked embrace of two princes and a toy maker when he turned and ran face-first into something enormous and hard.

“Master Baggins.”

Bilbo felt rather than heard his name in that fathomless rumble he knew so well. His heart leapt like a frightened hare into his throat as two roughened hands took him by the arms and moved him back out of the rich furs and fine leathers of the king’s tunic.

Bilbo stared up into the face of Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain, and swallowed hard. If he had been the epitome handsome power and majesty at a distance, up close in all his royal regalia, Thorin was simply heart-stopping _gorgeous._

 “At last,” Thorin murmured, so low only Bilbo would have heard. Relief and a bit of longing softened the edges around those ridiculous blue eyes as he looked down on the hobbit.

Bilbo felt the large hands on his arms tighten bit as he struggled to answer, rather gob-smacked by Thorin’s rugged beauty. When he shifted his weight and looked at the ground, Thorin’s grip tightened a bit more, thumbs caressing the halfling’s biceps as if trying to keep a spooked horse from bolting.

“It is good to see you, Thorin,” Bilbo finally managed. He looked up and offered what he hoped was a convincing smile.

“And you, Halfling,” Thorin’s shoulders relaxed and a smile appeared under his beard. “I had thought you would miss this gathering as well when I could not find you.”

Bilbo felt guilt wash up his throat to choke him. “I know. Please forgive my oversight earlier with the dedication of the market. I really didn’t mean to lose track of the time, it’s just–"

“Peace, little one,” Thorin rumbled, moving a hand to cup the back of the hobbit’s neck affectionately. “It is no great loss. I am, however, very pleased to see you tonight.”

The tips of Bilbo’s ears felt suspiciously warm, and he ducked his head with a small grin. Thorin nodded to his kin, both princelings watching the pair of them with matching smirks that set Bilbo’s teeth on edge. Then the king deftly maneuvered his burglar around the rowdy dwarves and outside the hall.

 

TBC...


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Thorin and Bilbo decide to have a little "talk" you can be absolutely sure that nothing will go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I planned this section out, I had all these hot and tender little moments in mind. And then these two guys opened their mouths and it all went to hell, naturally. Because Bilbo and Thorin continually suffer from Assumption Syndrome and Foot-in-Mouth disease. 
> 
> Also, I have a bit of a size-kink. Well, it's not a 'bit' of anything it's more like a raging rhinoceros of a size-kink. So don't be surprised if that comes into play a lot in my writing of these two. 
> 
> I love angst. Be forewarned.

Bilbo found himself on the battlements again, overlooking the mouth of the great dwarf kingdom. Little watch fires flickered from Dale in the near distance and further still, he could half make out the remnants of Lake-town on the shadowy shore.

The moon was nearly full and cast everything in a blue hue, making the strands of silver in Thorin’s hair stand out all the more. The breeze was cool and tickled the back of Bilbo’s neck. He pulled his coat tighter around himself.

Thorin must have seen him do this because in a moment, the dwarf was pressed up behind the Halfling, hands going to his shoulders and straying no further.

“Are you chilled?” Thorin asked softly.

Bilbo resisted another shiver that ran up his spine at the feel of Thorin’s bulk behind him. It was hardly the first time Thorin had bade him close for warmth, having all but shared a bedroll on the road. Then, Thorin had been grudging in his offer to keep the hobbit from freezing and Bilbo had been ramrod stiff with nervousness at being pressed into the future king’s side.

“No. Not really,” said Bilbo. “This is nice. Quieter.” He reveled in the soft sounds of night birds and the wind carrying over the rocks above; the steady thrum of Thorin’s heart behind him.

“Indeed.” Thorin’s hands slipped around Bilbo’s shoulders to pull him against his chest fully. “Would that we could spend more moments such as this, in private.”

Bilbo smiled. He knew Thorin was different than most dwarves, who reveled in large companies together. And even though Thorin loved his sister-sons dearly and enjoyed sparing with them, watching them carouse with each other, he was also a dwarf who valued a bit of solitude. He had noticed that Thorin tended to prefer to have Bilbo’s company all to himself, when he could.

“I have missed your company, Halfling,” Thorin said at last, in a deep resonate tone that sent a tremble through the hobbit. Thorin leaned down and spoke the words against Bilbo’s ear, “I have searched for you when I had leave from my duties but you have eluded me.”

“I wasn’t trying to elude you on purpose, Thorin,” Bilbo muttered guiltily. “I was just trying to find something to do. I feel rather useless these days.”

Bilbo really hadn’t meant to reveal that and he felt Thorin suck in a breath behind him as huge hands came around and crossed over the hobbit’s chest.

“Not now nor have you ever been useless, Bilbo. I may have wronged you in the beginning assuming as much of you, but that has been rectified,” Thorin said, resolutely. “Do not ever think of yourself as such again.”

Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand briefly before pulling from his embrace. The once cool breeze suddenly felt like a cold slap against his body without Thorin’s bulk to buffer it.

“But I’m not really _needed_ here, am I?”

Thorin looked stricken but Bilbo pushed forward.

“I know you all _want_ me here. I know that. But when I was helping Oin or even Bombur, I felt truly needed. I was contributing. Now,” he sighed, and almost automatically, his head turned westward toward the dark gloom of distant mountains, “now I feel like I’m in the way.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, sounding somehow older and statelier, “the rebirth of our home is marked by the swell in the number of dwarves traveling here to stay. Therefore there are more hands to help the reconstruction along. We – I – have more than appreciated your help in whatever way you could, but now is the time to leave the tending of the mountain to her people.”

Bilbo frowned. “And I am but a hobbit. A Halfling, as you are so fond of calling me.” Thorin looked like he wanted to argue, but Bilbo just sighed and looked at his hands. “Hobbits are unsuited to the rigors of shaping stone and metal to their will.”

“That may indeed be true,” Thorin stepped forward, features softened in the moonlight and he looked almost tender. “But that does not mean that you are not _needed_ , Bilbo.”

A stone-rough and calloused hand appeared in Bilbo’s eyesight as Thorin gently tilted his head up to meet the king’s gaze. Bilbo nearly faltered under the heat in Thorin’s eyes, burning straight through to his very soul and something pinched and tugged behind his breastbone.

“I do not think,” Thorin rumbled, soft and deep, “that you quite understand how _much_ you are needed, little one.”

Bilbo froze like a doe in the sights of an archer as Thorin descended on him, slow and tentative, and he felt the barest brush of bearded lips over his. One hand came to Bilbo’s side, brushing softly before coaxing Bilbo closer. The hobbit’s hands grasped at Thorin’s vambracers for lack of anything to keep his world righted.

Thorin pulled back enough to look on his hobbit, hooded eyes glazed with undisguised want and Bilbo tentatively licked his lips out of sheer nervousness. Then Thorin leaned in and sealed his lips properly over Bilbo’s and everything in the halfling’s head went white. Hands crept into Thorin’s mane of hair and when the great dwarf moaned, Bilbo thought his knees would buckle.

They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, gently exploring each other’s mouths and letting hands roam over chests, necks and hair. But then something like a growl rose up from Thorin’s chest and Bilbo found himself crushed hard against unyielding muscle, the King’s belt buckle digging almost painfully into his stomach.

Thorin’s mouth turned to ravaging rather than gentle exploration and Bilbo found that he quite couldn’t breathe. It was too much too fast, and _oh_ … Thorin pushed them together so forcefully Bilbo wasn’t sure that was his _belt buckle_ pressing into his stomach anymore.

“Mmmphf!” Bilbo tried to yank on a few braids to get the dwarf’s attention.

Thorin let out another frustrated grumble, letting go long enough to fist his hand in Bilbo’s curls and bend his head back so that he could attack the creamy soft neck with similar gusto. Bilbo gasped air into his lungs but found himself nearly off the ground in Thorin’s greedy embrace.

“Thorin, _please_.”

Immediately Thorin released the Halfling and stepped back. Both were panting, Thorin’s mane hanging around his flushed face and Bilbo knew he looked a right mess as well.

“I–" Thorin cleared his throat and swept a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, Bilbo. I didn’t mean–"

“It’s alright,” Bilbo rasped. His hands were shaking rather appallingly as he tried to set his coat to rights.

When Thorin reached for him again, Bilbo shied without really meaning to. He just didn’t think his frayed nerves could take much more of this, with his mind swirling about other things he _should_ be telling the king.

The King’s hand dropped, his face washed over with concern. “I’ve frightened you.”

“No,” Bilbo tried to wave him off.

“I have. You’re trembling, little one.” Thorin managed to snag one of Bilbo’s hands between both of his own.

Bilbo marveled at how his pale little hand was swallowed by Thorin’s larger ones.  He’d seen those hands kill, swing ax and blade in perfect sync to cut down any foe. He’d also felt those hands around his neck, threating, squeezing, raging…

Bilbo shuddered hard and Thorin gripped his hands tighter, leaning in with undisguised hurt and yearning on his face.

“I’m sorry. I should not have forced you so,” the king said, voice laced with remorse.

Bilbo tilted chin upward and tried to smile. “You forced no one, Thorin Oakenshield. I rather think I was holding my own quite well… up until you surprised me.”

Thorin let out a deep sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world with it. “It is you who continue to surprise me, my dear burglar.”

He bent and brushed a soft kiss across the hobbit’s knuckles, making Bilbo shudder again, this time in pleasure.

“I will learn to restrain myself. Although seeing you in the clothes I had made for you,” Thorin ran a finger down the neck of Bilbo’s coat, grazing the skin of his neck quite on purpose, “makes it very difficult indeed.”

Bilbo flushed high on his cheekbones this time and ducked his head. He took Thorin’s hand in his own and squeezed.

“Thank you. These are very nice,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t wobble awkwardly.

Thorin’s deep chuckle sounded like distant thunder. He finally let the Halfling go and gave him a little space as Bilbo turned and looked out over the hills of the desolation.

“Where have you been keeping yourself, Bilbo? The lads told me of your love of the library and quiet corners of the mountain where you like to read. It is unwise to go wandering, however.”

Bilbo stood at the wall, rising up enough to lean his arms on the top and look out. The moon’s light made the barren hills look bone white, dead but for the smattering of grass struggling to regrow. Far off to the west, Bilbo could see the hulking shadow of the Misty Mountains against the blackened sky like the ridge bone of a great dormant beast.

“I wasn’t wandering,” no real feeling in Bilbo’s words, “the nook I found wasn’t off the beaten path.”

“Still, this mountain is very dangerous. Most passages are blocked or terribly unstable,” Thorin said, coming to stand behind Bilbo. “There have been cave-ins recently. Injuries.”

He sidled a little closer, encasing Bilbo between his bulk and the stone wall. Thorin placed his hands on the Halfling’s shoulders, seeming a little uncertain of the welcome of his touch, but when Bilbo didn’t flinch, he squeezed slightly.

His voice was etched with a worry Bilbo often though only reserved for his beloved sister-sons.

“You could fall into darkness and no one would know. I could not bear to have you injured or…,” Thorin swallowed, and Bilbo could actually hear his throat click over the emotion. “Or _lost_.”

His last word was almost croaked out and Bilbo felt a throb in his heart for the king then.

“I didn’t mean to cause you worry, Thorin. I promise I will not stray from the well-lit paths and corridors,” Bilbo offered.

Thorin hummed a pleased sound that vibrated right through Bilbo’s bones and hugged the hobbit a little closer. It was if he could not go for long without touching Bilbo or being as close as possible. This was rather new, Bilbo thought, as before they were still trying to figure out how to be with one another once the mayhem the war ceased and a routine of reconstruction started.

In fact, this was more physically intimate than Thorin had ever been with Bilbo. It was nice – extremely nice, in fact – but it made Bilbo’s stomach churn uncomfortably when he remembered what he’d been meaning to bring up. Every time he looked toward the west, the homesickness wrapped coldly around his soul squeezed a little tighter, a counterbalance to the heat and affection radiating from the king all around him.

He was brought out of his reverie by Thorin nosing along behind his ear, breath tickling the sensitive skin at the nape.

“I will not lose you, Bilbo, now that I have you. Not now and not ever,” Thorin growled against this skin as he placed a kiss at the juncture of Bilbo’s neck and shoulder.

Bilbo could not help but lean back into the embrace and close his eyes at the possessive timbre in his king’s voice. Something deep inside him balked at the idea that Thorin’s possessive nature was rearing its head again; that once Thorin sought to own something there was little to change his mind. Another darker, more heated side of him thrilled at the idea of being claimed by this ferociously mighty king.

But neither of these thoughts would help Bilbo in what he needed to say. Far off in the distance beyond Mirkwood, clouds were gathering.

A fitting omen.

Gently, Bilbo pushed away from the wall and back into Thorin, who answered by wrapping his arms tighter around Bilbo’s middle and nearly purred against his neck. That wasn’t exactly what Bilbo intended, meaning to get some space to move away, but extricating himself from a king currently nipping on his neck was proving to be difficult.

Not to mention the effect Thorin’s actions were having on his own poor body. Bilbo’s skin was flushed from neck to navel it seemed and he was quite embarrassingly uncomfortable in other places as well. Thorin gave a gruff noise of frustration when Bilbo finally managed to slip from his arms.

He turned to face the king and… oh.

_Oh_.

Thorin looked like a starving man eyeing a fat steak. His wide chest was heaving great ragged breaths, lips ruddy in the moonlight and eyes so dark they looked like coal in the deepest depths of the mountain. He looked as if he were about to devour Bilbo whole.

Bilbo suddenly wanted very much to let him.

But no, there were things to be said… if he could only remember them.

Thorin spoke first, gravel in his voice that made Bilbo’s heart trip over itself.

“Why do you move away from me? Did I hurt you?” Thorin’s brow furrowed.

“What? No, no,” Bilbo rubbed at the spot Thorin had worried with his teeth, feeling the skin prickle. Probably have a mark there by morning. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s just… Thorin. I really must discuss a few things with you.”

Thorin took a deep breath, obviously getting himself back under control and ran a hand over his robes.

“Actually, there are a few things I have need to discuss with you as well, Halfling,” he said.

Thorin seemed to be fiddling with something in his left pocket then and Bilbo’s hand instinctively went to his own pocket with the ring, as if checking that it were still there.

“Oh, really?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin looked away and nodded, a completely nervous action that looked wholly odd on such a decisive presence as the King Under the Mountain.

“Yes, but it can keep for a moment. What is it you wish to say?” Thorin diverted.

Bilbo blinked. “Oh, er…”

“Out with it, Bilbo,” Thorin smirked. “You had no problem speaking your mind to me during our arrival at Esgaroth.”

Bilbo fought not to roll his eyes. “That was because you snapped at me after I’d just saved your life and rode a barrel down the most terrifying rapid I’ve ever seen. Hobbits and rivers do not mix, I can tell you.”

Thorin chuffed out a laugh. “Aye. And dwarves are not meant to challenge rivers in barrels either.”

Bilbo, wet and shivering, had stared down a half-drowned king and yelled in his face when Thorin dared to complain about his rescue. Bilbo figured his bravery then was due to being miserable and underappreciated, but he wished for some of that nerve now.

Huffing, Bilbo shifted nervously under Thorin’s intense gaze. “Well, I was thinking…”

The hobbit suddenly found his hands very interesting, turning them over and inspecting his nails when he felt Thorin take a step forward, his shadow overtaking Bilbo.

“Speak, little one. I wish to know what is weighing on your heart so,” Thorin murmured gently.

“I have been here nigh on two years,” Bilbo said finally. “And I have enjoyed it immensely. You and your kin have shown me things my heart and mind could not dare to dream about, let alone describe. This mountain is every bit as magnificent as you described in song.”

Thorin smiled indulgently; clearly pleased his home impressed the hobbit so.

Bolstered by Thorin’s reaction, Bilbo pushed on. “But I wonder if it is not time for me to leave–"

“What?” Thorin looked as if he’d been struck, eye wide and shocked.

“Not-not for good, you see. Just–"

“You wish to leave m- _us_? Have we offended you in some way?” Thorin rushed forward, hands slowly balling into fists.

“What? No!” Bilbo cried.

“Bilbo, if someone has been discourteous or unkind you must tell me.” Thorin’s face twisted into that fierce determination the hobbit had seen before planning an attack.

“Listen, you great silly dwarf, no one has been unkind.” Bilbo would leave out the comments from those two dwarves about his private relationship with the king.

“Then I do not understand why you would leave us,” Thorin ground out.

“I just want to return to the Shire,” when Thorin stiffened, gaze darkening, Bilbo hurried to add, “Just for a while, perhaps?”

He really hadn’t meant that to sound like a question. Bilbo should be able to leave Erebor indefinitely if he so chooses. But he truthfully did not think he could abandon his friends – or Thorin – forever.

Thorin’s shoulders bunched under his fine robes and when he squared them, pulling himself to his full height, Bilbo had to fight the urge to take a step backward.

“No.” The king’s voice was as hard as the mountain around them.

Bilbo was already half way into his next attempt, “I was thinking I could go for a – wait, _no_?”

Thorin moved past the hobbit to stand at the wall. “I cannot allow you to leave, Master Baggins.”

The formality of his surname felt like he’d been struck and Bilbo just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring at the king’s back.

“Wait, you cannot _allow_ …” He shook his head. “ _Excuse me_ , but what are you on about, Thorin?”

“Even since the battle the wild has become more dangerous. Trade routes are constantly attacked by orcs. Messages from the Great East Road talk of increased raids on towns and villages and the path through the mountain grows ever darker with the threat of goblins.”

He turned his head and regarded Bilbo over his shoulder. “Now is not the time to go traipsing off on a foolhardy journey, Halfling. I’ve not the dwarves to spare for your protection.”

There was a hard, finale edge to Thorin’s words that brooked no argument. And Bilbo could not deny the surge of fear that coiled in his stomach at the thought of the enemies they’d nearly died defeating in battle crawling off to regroup again. His hand went to his ring, feeling the metal warm under his touch.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and growing clouds, but Bilbo plucked up his nerve.

“I do not need a garrison of dwarves, Thorin. Perhaps a small group will go unnoticed amongst the trade caravans that are a constant stream into and out of the area. Surely then–"

“I said, _no_.”

The bark of Thorin’s deep voice reverberated off the stone walls, making it echo and startled Bilbo so that he nearly stumbled over his own feet. Thorin whirled around in a flurry of furs, leather and blazing eyes that reminded Bilbo so acutely of that day when he actually thought Thorin capable of wringing the life clean out of him.

The dwarf king was breathing heavily again and seemed to see that he’d sent Bilbo back a step or two in fear. He deflated somewhat, a hand going out to the hobbit, beseeching.

“Bilbo, please understand. It is simply too dangerous. I cannot go with you to ensure your protection and I …” Thorin faltered, voice gravel rough again, “I cannot let you go. That is all.”

Bilbo raised his chin defiantly while ignoring the sting in his traitorous eyes.

“So, I am to remain here indefinitely. Shall I remain in my rooms, my lord?”

Thorin looked as if he’d just swallowed bile. “You are no prisoner, Bilbo.”

“I scarcely see the difference. I was only asking for the chance to return to my home, even just to tend to business and visit friends and family,” Bilbo said caustically, noting the way Thorin flinched when he spoke the words ‘my home.’ _Good. Served him right._ “But I see I was asking for too much of his majesty’s favors.”

Thorin’s eyes went hard again and he drew himself up to tower over the hobbit.

“You are safe and well cared for _here_ , hobbit. There are ravens if you’ve need to send word back and forth to your relatives. I cannot imagine there is hobbit business of great enough import that could not be settled with a few missives.”

Bilbo felt his blood boil at the return of Thorin Oakenshield dismissing anything and everything hobbit-ish as irrelevant.

Bilbo swallowed a few times and tried to find his voice, but all he wanted to do was scream incoherently. And perhaps find a stool to stand on while he boxed this dwarf’s ears.

“I’ve nothing more to say on this matter, Halfling,” Thorin finally stated in a low voice, his entire countenance closed off and cold.

“As you will,” Bilbo choked out angrily. “I should like to take my leave of you, _sire_.”

The hobbit did not wait for an answer, storming off into the deep if the mountain and back to his rooms, leaving the King standing on the gates of his great kingdom, alone.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's thoughts on the Royal Screw-Up.

Thorin, son of Thrain had felt many different kinds of pain in his long life. He’d felt the sting of steel entering his flesh, the bite of an arrow in his side. He’d known the ache of despair realizing his people were scattered to the winds like dandelion seeds, and he’d felt the drowning pull of bone-deep loneliness.

But the persistent tug in his chest, as though a chain were wrought around his very heart was both constricting and wresting the organ was very different.

As the little Halfling tore away down the torch-lit corridor, Thorin felt all his energy drain out of him in one breath. His shoulders drooped and for a moment, he felt every single one of his one hundred and ninety five years.

The little box in his pocket finally emerged in his hand and he shook his head ruefully, staring down at it.

Heavy footfalls made the king lift his head. A lumbering form emerged from the shadows, revealing his faithful and bravest friend.

“Saw the Halfling tear out of here as if Durin’s Bane were on his heels,” Dwalin said. He came to stand beside his king, putting a great hand on his friend’s arm. “Alright there?”

Thorin glanced up at the burly dwarf, touched but not surprised by Dwalin’s show of concern. Many were quick to dismiss the warrior as simply a brute; his size and fierce demeanor built for battle and protection but little else. But Thorin knew Dwalin’s heart was where his true strength lay, in his unwavering loyalty and friendship. He also knew that Dwalin, who’d never found a partner as far as he was aware, understood better than most the loneliness that could wrack a dwarf’s soul as a hammer to anvil.

Thorin smiled a little, nodding to his friend. “Just remembering what an old fool I am.”

He carefully opened the small box and felt Dwalin lean forward to look as well. Dwalin let out a startled breath at the sight of the silver ring; the finest craftsmanship in all of Erebor. Inlaid diamonds in a band of pure silver wrapped around a single perfect sapphire. Dwarf runes were etched around the band and the stone caught the light of the moon before the clouds could obscure it.

“Yer mother’s ring?” Dwalin asked.

“Aye. My father had it made for her upon their courtship,” Thorin said, remembering how she’d given it to him on her deathbed with the hopes that he pass it on to his intended.

He snapped the box closed and took a step back to lean against the wall wearily. Dwalin moved to his side and took his shoulder in hand.

“And the Halfling?” the warrior nodded toward Bilbo’s exit.

Thorin stared into the distant dark. “Wants to leave the mountain.” He leaned his head back then and stared at the sky, feeling his chest constrict again around the words. “He would have refused, even if I’d the chance to ask.”

Dwalin made a disgusted sound. “Leave? Why in Durin’s name would he want to leave and risk capture or death on the road beyond?”

“I told him thus, but that little hobbit’s stubborn streak could rival any dwarf’s,” and despite his sadness, Thorin smiled at this.

Dwalin moved to stand before the king; arms crossed over his broad chest and leveled a hard stare at his liege.

“So since you haven’t asked him, he hasn’t really refused anythin’ yet.”

Thorin shoved the ring in his pocket and mirrored his guardsman’s stance. “What of it? The hobbit would neither hear me out nor stay and listen to anything more. I told him it was too dangerous to leave the mountain.”

Dwalin chewed on his lip, then asked gruffly. “Where’s he wantin’ to go?”

“Home. To his little hobbit hole in his little Shire,” Thorin grumbled.

The scarred dwarf ran a hand over his scalp and nodded. “Aye. Should’ve known. The lad’s homesick, is all. It’ll pass.”

Thorin knew this, deep in his heart he couldn’t begrudge Bilbo his homesickness. He understood better than most what it’s like to long for the home you grew up in. But he simply could not bear the thought of Bilbo being on the road, away from his protective eye. The reports of goblin and orc movements were not exaggerated and more came in every day. It made Thorin’s stomach lurch to think of sending Bilbo out into that for the long, perilous journey back to the Shire, even if he promised to return.

And a spiteful side of Thorin’s mind whispered that once he let the Halfling go, he’d never see him again. Even if he made it to the Shire hale and whole, why would he ever have need to return to the Lonely Mountain?

Something dark and ugly reared in Thorin then that made him want to lock the doors to the hobbit’s room to make sure he could not sneak away. Could _not_ leave. _Ever_.

Dwalin must have seen his fists balling and his jaw clenching, for he reached forward and chucked Thorin on the shoulder, snapping him out of it.

“It will pass, Thorin. You are a _king_. He’ll not refuse you,” Dwalin stated with absolute certainty. “Let him see the splendors of this great mountain and he will soon forget that little house and that little life under the hill.”

Thorin sighed. “Hobbits care not for the riches of mountains or kings, Dwalin. You saw how he gave away his half of the treasure. Bilbo's heart craves books and comfy furniture, sunlight and flowers, not gemstones and wrought gold.”

“Then plant ’im a wee garden and put an armchair in the middle,” Dwalin said jovially, as if this could all be mended with the right gift.

“Would that it were that easy, my friend,” Thorin said, clasping Dwalin on the shoulder and staring off into the mountain, wistfully. “All my treasures and riches beyond measure for a way to make my hobbit happy,” he lamented quietly.

The king did not realize his words until he felt Dwalin’s hand drop from his shoulder and take a step back. When he looked at the old warrior he frowned. Dwalin’s eyes were large and he had a spooked air about him. It was very unsettling to see his bravest friend so unnerved.

“Dwalin?”

Dwalin’s brows drew together and he took a step back into the king’s space. “Mahal. I didn’t think I would live to see the day.”

Thorin scowled.

“He’s yer _One_ , Thorin,” Dwalin murmured in awe.

Thorin felt his heartbeat spike under his breast, the truth of Dwalin’s words singing in his blood. Bilbo _was_ his One. The other half his soul had been searching for his entire life but didn’t know until that day on the battlefield as he kneeled, broken and bleeding before a battered hobbit to ask forgiveness.

It hadn’t been an epic heartsong as Thorin had expected, where his soul would cry out for the other half finally so near, reaching out for the connection it sought for so long. It had been but a subtle thing, a creeping need building in his heart to be near the halfling, to see him happy and safe within his walls.

That need grew like a vine throughout his being until Thorin was looking for ways to postpone meetings and business so that he could stop in and see what his hobbit was doing. Having Bilbo right here, in his mountain, where he could talk to or simply be near him quelled the jittery feeling in his chest when the hobbit was out of sight for long.

Those days when Bilbo had eluded his company were terrible and Thorin did not find solace in sleep or food. By the time Bilbo missed the dedication of the market, Thorin was nearly sick with worry and tore over half the mountain searching for his Halfling. His sister-sons took pity on him and oversaw the search when emissaries from the Iron Hills arrived and demanded the king’s attention. When they reported that Bilbo had simply hared away to read a book, Thorin wanted to sing with relief.

He’d also wanted to break something in frustration. How could Bilbo be so careless? Did he not know how Thorin worried over him?

Looking back at Dwalin, Thorin sagged against the wall again, hands falling to his sides.

“I cannot deny it,” he said finally.

“Why would ye deny the one true treasure we spend our lives searching for and hope we never lose until the day we die? Does he not know what he’s condemning ye to if he leaves?” Dwalin sounded raw now; Thorin heard the envy and the fear in his friend’s thick drawl.

He looked up at Dwalin’s sad eyes. “What would you have me do, old friend? You cannot force an unwilling heart to love.”

It sounded pathetic, but truth rarely cared for the pride of dwarf kings. At least with Dwalin, Thorin could drop the majesty and just be the man who grew up with the youngest son of Fundín always at his side.

Dwalin reached out a hand and Thorin returned the gesture, the bigger dwarf pulling the king forward from the wall, clasped forearm to forearm.

“Give him time, Thorin. And show him that the love of a king is nothin’ to ignore,” Dwalin rumbled. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think yer affections go unanswered. That little creature has done quite a lot to prove himself to you. And if he’s yer One, he’ll not be able to deny you for long.”

Thorin shook his head and smiled, appreciating Dwalin’s unshakeable faith, but knowing that a dwarf finding his One was a rare thing indeed, and not always mutual.  

“You are a good friend, Dwalin. Thank you for listening to a foolish old dwarf.”

Dwalin laughed out loud at that. “Aye. But it does not hurt to be foolish for the right reasons. Love is a fair enough excuse.”

The dwarf king clasped his arm over his friend’s shoulder as they retreated into the main hall. He would give Bilbo time to cool off and sort his feelings. He must be made to understand that leaving the mountain is simply too dangerous, no matter what damage it may do to Thorin’s heart if his One strayed too far.

He needed to talk to Balin about finding some way to lift Bilbo’s spirits. Perhaps Dwalin’s suggestion wasn’t half bad. In the meanwhile, Thorin tried to remain optimistic that his little burglar would see reason, eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I am TERRIFICALLY nervous about what you guys think of my Thorin POV. He is exceptionally hard for me to write. Also, I adore Dwalin. I think his and Thorin's connection is intriguing and full of heart and they are basically the best warrior bros ever. And maybe Dwalin's a bit of a romantic under all the bluster and gruff. And there are a lot of things Thorin is NOT saying, and Bilbo doesn't know that all this "One" business is really serious for dwarves.
> 
> Also writing Dwalin's accent and not having him come out sounding like a pirate is epically hard. 
> 
> Funny beta comments fro this section included "USE YOUR WORDS THORIN. You are the biggest doofus! DID you miss the part where he was kissing your face off you dork!" All by the most fabulous cheerleader Sparklyslug. Seriously. She's awesomesauce.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Bilbo gets some advice... and a couple of royal headaches.

The guards and passing dwarves gave the irate hobbit a wide birth as Bilbo stomped back to his rooms. He was well aware that as a full grown hobbit, he was making a fool of himself. But bebother and confusticate Thorin and his stone-headed pride! How, after all the blood, sweat and tears that had been spilled in getting him and his dwarves home could he deny Bilbo the same courtesy of going back to _his_?

And Bilbo had said it would just be for a visit, didn’t he? But despite the way his heart sagged and railed against the thought, the way things were going, Bilbo thought the visit back home might become permanent. If he could ever get there.

Whatever he thought was going on between him and Thorin, well, obviously he’d been mistaken.

The king said he was needed, but when it came down to brass tacks, he thought Bilbo just as frail and weak and undeserving of his time and effort as always.

Bilbo muttered and cursed the line of Durins all the way down the dark hallways to his rooms, when he collided with someone in a muffled _oomph_.

“I – I’m sorry, I should have…” Bilbo managed to keep the old grey dwarf from toppling over, “Oh, Balin. It’s you.”

“Aye, laddie, though I’d rather not be trod under the hairy feet of hobbits if I can avoid it.” Balin straighten his fine robes and smoothed his great beard before leveling Bilbo with a stern look.

“Now, what has you is such a hurry, Master Baggins?”

“Just going to my rooms… for the foreseeable future, it seems,” Bilbo muttered.

Balin eyed him for a moment. “The party did not suit you, I see.”

Bilbo snorted. “I’ve had enough of dwarves for one life time, thank you very much.”

The hobbit was shouldering past the royal advisor when Balin caught his elbow. The old dwarf could usually stop a person cold with a knowing look from under those ridiculous eyebrows, rather like Gandalf, in disturbing similarity, but he rarely resorted to actually laying a hand on Bilbo to get his attention.

“The King was searching for you, Bilbo,” Balin stated.

“And he found me, Balin,” Bilbo replied, harshly.

He did not want to speak of Thorin to his ever loyal dwarf brethren because he certainly didn’t feel like being told he was a fool to want to leave this blasted mountain again. Having his opinion and his wishes stomped upon by the one dwarf who mattered most was more than his soul could take.

Balin’s eyes went wide and he subtly looked down at Bilbo’s hands for a moment, for what reason, Bilbo couldn’t tell. Then Balin looked so aggrieved Bilbo momentarily forgot his own troubles and wanted to offer the old dwarf his help instead.

“Oh dear,” Balin said, shaking his head with a wince. “Things did not go according to plan, I take it.”

“According to what plan?” Bilbo asked, confused.

Balin heaved an aged sigh, as though life were particularly taxing that day and he’d had enough.

“You and Thorin had words.”

Bilbo crossed his arms and swallowed the twinge of acid in his throat.

“Yes. I simply asked to be allowed to leave the Lonely Mountain to visit my home, for I have been here a good long while and my poor Bag End is all but abandoned. My dreadful relatives have probably ransacked the place and I need to see to my affairs.”

“The _king_ ,” and Bilbo put a little more bite into Thorin’s title than necessary, “pointedly told me that I am not allowed even a furlough to my own home, for he has not the time nor the inclination to help me.”

Balin gave Bilbo a look that uncomfortably reminded him of his father’s looks when Bilbo had done something particularly stupid as a tween.

“Oh Master Baggins, the king did not deny you out of spite,” Balin said. “You must know that.”

“He said it was too dangerous,” Bilbo admitted mulishly.

“And right he is, laddie,” the old dwarf’s voice was sharp and commanding now and Bilbo stood at attention. “I just received word that a convoy with supplies from Erid Luin had been attacked by orcs and wargs just this evening past. Several dwarves where killed and many more injured, much of the supplies lost before the scum were driven away.”

Bilbo felt his shoulders stiffen at the news. It was not that he doubted Thorin’s word but he did not know it was _that_ bad.

Balin touched his arm. “We have sent out patrols to hunt these scouting packs before they reach our convoys but until another garrison from the Iron Hills arrives in the next weeks, I fear we are spread thin.”

“Oh,” was all Bilbo could say.

“Thorin would rather cut off his beard than to see you in harm’s way again, Bilbo,” Balin said, gently.

Bilbo swallowed at the dwarf’s sincerity. Balin could be a bit tetchy at times, but he was solid and faithful, much like his burly brother and very wise. And an oath of cutting one’s beard in dwarf society was nothing to be taken lightly, Bilbo knew.

“Perhaps the situation will change in time,” Bilbo said glumly.

He had no idea how much longer he would have to stay in the mountain with no word from home and no idea where he stood with the great king. He was still furious with Thorin for his pig-headedness and he didn’t relish the thought of being stuck under the king’s roof – so to speak – with things as such between them.

Balin looked at Bilbo with a sad smile as they continued to the halfling’s rooms.

“Homesickness is a terrible thing, laddie. It eats away at your resolve until everything tastes of ash and there’s little joy in anything anymore,” he said in a low voice.

It hurt Bilbo that Balin understood homesickness with bitter certainty, just as Thorin. Why, he wondered, when these dwarves could appreciate his feelings all the way to their very bones, would they not at least try to work out some way to get him home safely?

Balin held the door to Bilbo’s suit open for him and at Bilbo’s motion, followed the hobbit inside. Despite his want for solitude of late, Bilbo found talking to the old dwarf soothing and did not particularly want him to leave.

Balin looked contemplative as he closed the massive oaken door behind him and stepped into Bilbo’s room, while the hobbit stoked his ebbing fire in the hearth. The suite was enormous by hobbit standards of course, but Thorin had gone to lengths to make it homier for Bilbo. Thick rugs on the floor and tapestries on the walls to hold in the warmth, as well as bookshelves and fine tables for Bilbo’s writing and reading habits. His bed was massive and carved of the finest wood and Thorin had two enormous armchairs made for Bilbo, stuffed so luxuriously that many a night he’d spent sleeping in them, curled up against one arm with a book falling between his knees.

“Did Thorin not speak of… of other things to you on this night?” Balin asked tentatively.

Bilbo frowned and looked up from the fire. “No. Well, I didn’t exactly stay to hear much else after he dismissed me.”

The string of Khuzdul that came from Balin could only have been some very colorful curses; the old dwarf’s cheeks going red with frustration and Bilbo would have paid good coin to know what exactly he was calling his King then.

When Balin turned back he waved off Bilbo’s curious look and scratched at his beard.

“It is not my place to explain but perhaps the king will see fit to speak with you again soon.”

“Thorin doesn’t do so much speaking _with_ me as talking _at_ me,” Bilbo grumbled.  Of course, there had been more pleasant things they did that didn’t involve words - extremely pleasent things - but he figured their row poured cold water on any future _non-verbal_ liaisons between them as well.

“Thorin has never been skilled at expressing his deeper emotions, Bilbo,” Balin said. “But to say he cares for you would be a monumental understatement. More than that, none of us want to see you go, laddie. We’ve all become quite fond of our burglar.”

Bilbo’s entire being warmed at the smile Balin bestowed and he knew then that even if he did ever leave, it wouldn’t be forever. Somewhere along the way, he’d come to love these dwarves, these comrades who’d seen him through thick and thin. Who’d given him a family he didn’t know he was lacking and filled a hole in his heart he never imagined existed.

“Thank you, Balin,” Bilbo whispered, and didn’t hesitate when the old dwarf held his arms out wide.

Balin’s hugs weren’t as bone breaking as the lads or Bofur’s and for a while, all in Bilbo’s world seemed at peace. After a moment, Balin stepped back and gave Bilbo’s shoulder a good chuck, still beaming genially at him.

“I cannot tell you to simply forget your homesickness, laddie, but perhaps a diversion is in order.” Balin stroked his beard thoughtfully, eyes twinkling. “Something that would be of interest to you.”

Bilbo smiled, about to toss out a suggestion or two, for if he would not be leaving for the Shire any time soon, he might as well make the best of it. Then, the huge door to his room shook under a thunderous knock.

Both dwarf and hobbit jumped slightly.

“Y-yes?” Bilbo called out.

The door swung open and a whirlwind of dark and tawny haired dwarves fairly fell into the room. Kili and Fili were well and truly drunk now, arms over each other’s shoulders as if that would help them stand, stumbling and laughing hilariously, caught in some joke between them.

“This was not the sort of diversion I had in mind,” Balin groused, his hands going to his hips as the princes spied Bilbo and lurched toward him.

“Bilbo!” cried Kili.

“We’d looked all over for you,” cried Fili, who tripped over his own foot and was barely saved from planting his face in the rug by his brother’s quick hands.

Kili sniggered as he righted his older brother and then swayed into Bilbo’s face, with absolutely no regard for personal space whatsoever. He reeked of ale and his big, dark eyes were a bit glassy, but it was hard for Bilbo to get angry when Kili was sporting such a stupidly pathetic look.

“Uncle came back to the Great Hall with Mister Dwalin,” Kili leaned in and snuck an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders. “Looked as if he’d been gutted by a rusty blade, he did.”

Bilbo winced, whether from the lad’s weight on him or from the description of Thorin after he’d left, he didn’t know. Some part of him secretly reveled that he could affect the king so, however.

“Aye,” said Fili, who collapsed in one of the chairs with a groan. “Haven’t seen him so downcast since the days he’d come back to Erid Luin and tell mum there was no work to be had and he’d have to be gone for months at a time to make enough to feed us.”

Bilbo’s blossoming mood sank like a stone in a lake at the description, for he could very well imagine a young dwarf prince dragging himself back to his sister and nephews after having failed to provide adequately for them, shoulders slumped in humiliation and weariness.  Suddenly, Bilbo wanted to run to Thorin and apologize, unable to stomach that look of defeat on the king’s face.

“Don’t exaggerate, Fili,” Balin admonished.

“He’s not, Balin,” Kili piped up, turning back to Bilbo with wide, sad eyes. “What happened Bilbo? Oh, you didn’t reject him, did you?” Kili looked horrified.

“Reject him? Wha- I’ve no idea… how could I reject him when he – Kili would you stop that!”

Kili had taken one of Bilbo’s hands and was inspecting each finger it seemed before moving to the next hand, when Bilbo yanked away and smacked at him. Then the younger Durin looked blearily confused at his brother. Fili narrowed his foggy blue eyes and attempted to sit forward.

“You didn’t reject Uncle? But did he not- _ouch_! Leave off, Balin!” Fili ducked as Balin swiftly thumped him on the head.

“What goes on between Mister Baggins and your uncle the _King_ is none of your concern, you nosey princelings,” Balin scolded, reminding Bilbo so much of old Hamfast Gamgee scolding little Tooks and Brandybucks who trod on his carrots it hurt to breathe.

Bilbo managed to extricate himself from a very clingy Kili and pushed the dwarf down into the huge chair next to his brother.

“Thank you, Balin,” Bilbo said quietly as he sat on the hearth and warmed his back.

“What are you two doing here,” asked the old dwarf.

Kili looked up innocently. “We were worried. The way Uncle looked we figured either Bilbo reje–" he flinched when Balin made to smack him as he’d done his brother.

“Or,” Fili continued, watching Bilbo closely, “That Uncle buggered things up but good with you.”

“If he was harsh with you we can have a little talk with him, Bilbo,” Kili stated firmly. He looked at Bilbo with lowered brows, making his drunken, too-young face seem awfully angry and Bilbo just burst out in laughter.

He didn’t mean to, really. It was just with his emotions running roughshod over reason of late, the sight of two drunk princelings willing to fight for his honor against their uncle, whom Bilbo knew they adored almost as much as they adored each other, was hysterical.

Kili’s face crumpled into confusion and more than a little hurt and Fili patted his back soothingly.

“I mean it,” Kili insisted, incensed that his chivalry was being insulted. “He’s got no call to treat you even the slightest bit badly, even if he’s a king and can’t get his own feelings to work properly.”

Bilbo abruptly stopped laughing at that and Balin laid a hand on the youngest prince’s shoulder.

“That’s enough, laddie,” He said, tone gentle but firm.

Kili looked like he wanted to argue, but Fili stayed him with a hand on his knee. Bilbo appreciated how much Kili liked him, but sometimes the youngest prince’s heart was bigger than his brain.

“Thank you Kili. I mean it. But I’ll figure things out with your uncle in time,” Bilbo said, tiredly. He looked at his bed longingly, the emotional turmoil of the night taking its toll.

Kili all but pouted, his formal declaration of protection ignored, but Fili leaned forward and gave Bilbo an encouraging smile.

“Uncle is a proper idiot if he doesn’t do right by you,” Fili murmured and Bilbo had to fight not to blush.

Why did everyone seem to know more about Thorin’s feelings and affection for him than he did at times? The only time he was absolutely sure of his place in Thorin’s heart was when… and now he really _was_ blushing … he was wrapped up in the king’s thick, comforting arms.  But the two princes were coming to his defense as if he’d been a wronged maiden.

Bilbo chuckled and patted Fili’s bearded cheek, setting one of his moustache braids to swaying.

“Thank you, Fili. I appreciate your support.”

Kili looked as if he’d been horribly left out of the praise so Bilbo added, “You too Kili. But really, everything is alright. I’ll just have to find some way to be useful.”

At that, Balin stepped forward. “Ah yes, back to that distraction I mentioned…”

“I don’t want to be a bother to anyone trying to do their jobs, Balin. I do not wish to be underfoot where I’m not needed,” said Bilbo.

“I was thinking of something outdoors.” Balin winked and Bilbo’s spirits brightened immediately.

That is, until he had to figure out how to move two unconscious and snoring dwarf princes out of his reading chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I may love Kili and Fili a bit too much. And Balin is like... the wise grandpa everyone goes to for help. I'm perpetuating a trope but I don't care. 
> 
> Some have asked if Bilbo can just put on the Ring and leave, which would be all kinds of BAMFy but also impractical. He'll need help to get home. But he's also got to give Thorin a chance to apologize, right?
> 
> So much love to beta Sparklyslug here because she rocks and she got me hooked on Teen Wolf and I've been wading through Sterek fic like crazy. Its a good thing this story is already finished.


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo gets a gift, a special message and a warning. In the end, he has a big decision to make.

The problem had been one of location. The Lonely Mountain did not have many spots where greenery could grow in abundance, the hills and pastures surrounding Dale being the ideal place for farming before the desolation. And with the land scorched as it was and struggling to regain its growth, it was hard to tell if the ground would bear anything worth cultivating anymore.

But far up the side of the mountain, the dwarves of ages past had cut balconies and courtyards for the upper echelon of dwarven society on some of the natural outcroppings. Upon some of these areas little patches of soil remained that had once been gardens. From the look of them now, though, Bilbo was sure the dwarves didn’t know the first thing about growing anything other than patches of scrubby grass.

He had been summoned not long after the party onto one such garden terrace by Thorin himself, and Bilbo was not at all looking forward to being alone with the king. Thorin seemed to share this sentiment, for the mighty dwarf shifted his weight nervously as Bilbo drew near the clear crystal doors that lead onto the terrace.

“I have something to show you,” Thorin said, without preamble. Dwalin was also there, giving Bilbo a serious nod and then blocked the exit as if Bilbo were likely to bolt.

The terrace opened out onto a balcony at least twice the size of Bag End, covered in overgrown shrubs, vines and a thick, hardy grass that seemed to have survived decades of neglect. There were beautiful statues of dwarven warriors - their weapons drawn menacingly in little alcoves, carved from coarse rock - hardy and solemn where the statues in Rivendale had been light and lithe.  Bilbo looked around the quiet landscape frozen in time with no small amount of awe.

“What is this place?” he asked quietly, turning back to Thorin.

Thorin was watching him like a hawk. “My grandfather’s personal garden. It was never as… colorful… as the gardens I saw in the Shire, but I remember him using it as a place for contemplation when I was young.”

Bilbo ran a hand over a smooth marble bench. “I imagine this place was peaceful.” Away from the constant cacophony of dwarves, forges and mining, Bilbo thought.

“Yes,” Thorin murmured, coming close to Bilbo and looking as if he wanted be even closer. “I was hoping that you would be able to find peace here as well. Do you like it?”

Bilbo sat himself on the bench and took a deep breath. The sun was able to reach this side of the mountain and the breeze was light. The rain from the day before left everything smelling fresh despite the disuse of the space and he couldn’t help but feel the weight on his soul lessen.

He looked around at the overgrowth and the patches of bare earth.

“Bit of mulch, a few flowerbeds and a lot of pruning and this place would be right as rain,” he said after a moment.

Thorin looked so utterly pleased that Bilbo felt his breath stutter in his chest. He had no doubt that the whole of Middle Earth was a brighter place when Thorin Oakenshield truly smiled.

“I’ve already thought of that,” and Thorin motioned to Dwalin, who came in with a couple of other dwarfs. They pushed huge wheelbarrows filled with small plants, packets of seeds, and to Bilbo’s everlasting astonishment: gardening utensils.

“Where did you find this?” the hobbit asked when he could finally speak.

Thorin chuckled. “The plants I had sent from a load of farming supplies on its way to Dale. The land is more accepting of the plow these days so I imagine they will be shipping more and more supplies in as the crops are sown again. The Men of Dale were always skilled at growing things. The tools I made… for you.”

Bilbo beamed up at the dwarf then and Thorin actually stood a bit taller.

“You made these for me?”

Thorin nodded. Bilbo looked down at the beautifully made tools, spades and rakes of fine steel and polished wood all scaled to perfect hobbit size. Some of the plants were merely shrubs and few of them flowered, but the seed packets had many flowers Bilbo recognized. He took a moment to look around the terrace, imagining what it would be like to work in the earth again. If this was the distraction Balin had mentioned, oh, he owed the old dwarf a couple of honey cakes the next time he was in the kitchens.

Thorin reached out and touched his arm, leaning down. He looked worried that Bilbo would reject his gift… maybe that was what the lads were talking about that night.

“Do you like it?” He asked softly, blue eyes bright and intense as if Bilbo’s judgment meant absolutely everything.

Bilbo suddenly wanted to cry. This was better than he could have expected, especially after their row. Dwarves, who care little for tilling the ground and place more value on jewels and weapons, and Thorin had given him an actual garden!

Thorin’s body tensed when Bilbo flung himself into his arms, struggling to reach around the dwarf’s thick middle. He buried his face in regal furs and laughed as Thorin’s arms came around him to clutch him close. He felt Thorin bend down to bury his face in the hobbit’s curls.

“Yes!” Bilbo said into Thorin’s massive chest. “It’s a wonderful gift, Thorin.”

A hand came up to card through Bilbo’s hair and Thorin rumbled, “You forgive me then?”

At that, Bilbo tensed and Thorin went still. The hobbit pulled back and looked at the king, whose face had gone pensive, as if expecting failure again.

Sighing, Bilbo stepped back but Thorin kept hold of his shoulders, unwilling to let him leave his embrace completely.

“I understand the dangers in traveling beyond the mountain, Thorin. I was wrong to snap at you when you made a valid point.”

Thorin looked down and breathed a relieved sigh.

“But,” Bilbo said, catching the king’s eye, “The matter is not closed.”

Thorin’s expression pinched for a moment, considering, and then grudgingly nodded.

“Very well. I will not ruin this moment arguing with you, little one,” he said, and Bilbo frowned but let it go.

His mind was already planning what flower beds would go where and how to go about attacking the vines creeping over the statues like grey-green veils.

Bilbo spent the next few weeks in that garden, cleaning, weeding, digging and transplanting. He went to the small markets in Dale searching for seedlings and cuttings, as the Gurul Market inside the mountain carried no such greenery and the dwarves there turned up their noses at the thought of selling plants, such an elvish idea as it was.

He worked until his shirt was soaked through with sweat and his hands were covered in blisters. He saw Oin for his special ointments and to have his hands wrapped, but all the while thankful for the balm to his heart this garden had become.

Thorin had been appalled during one of their meals – for he was making a more concerted effort to make amends with the king by sharing more dinners with him – to see his burglar’s hands so abused, but Bilbo assured him that it was the mark of a true gardener.  The tender way Thorin had cradled his tiny hands in his own as he inspected the damage had done funny things to Bilbo’s insides.

The two of them took ginger steps in their relationship of late, tentative touches and chaste kisses, nothing like the passion Thorin had unleashed upon the Halfling on the battlements. Bilbo appreciated the slow pace while he sorted his thoughts. Still, Bilbo felt a jittery fluttering in his gut every time Thorin touched him, caught between hoping for that passion to return and fearing it as well.

Thorin himself looked like he was actually considering vengeance against Bilbo’s new tools. He’d even talked about having the handles wrapped in some sort of cushioning fabric, before Bilbo told him he was ridiculous.

The hobbit was not surprised, however, when timid Ori showed up on the terrace one day with a new book Bilbo had asked after and a pair of fingerless gloves he’d knitted. They were stitched on top with ox-hide palms and Ori blushed as Bilbo thanked him profusely.

Eager for some conversation with the dwarf, Bilbo asked Ori to stay while he finished up with the lily bulbs he’d planted, listening as the archivist talked about how the newest section of renovation in the library was coming along.  

Ori was chattering on about some illustrations he’d inked in the chronicle of their adventure to the mountain while Bilbo was up to his elbows in mulch, when a curious flapping noise sounded overhead.

A raven fluttered onto the balcony wall, quarking warningly and hopping back and forth.

“Oh,” said Ori. “I didn’t think the ravens knew about this area.”

The dwarf placed his book down and walked over to the creature, which Bilbo noticed had a tiny scroll tied to its leg. But when Ori reached out for the message, the bird clacked its thick beak at him.

“ _Baggins_!” the bird cawed, high and screechy.

Bilbo jolted. “I will never get used to those things actually talking.”

“Looks like you’ve got a message, Bilbo,” said Ori, moving aside as the bird hopped down from the wall.

Bilbo eyed the thing cautiously as the raven did an odd little hop-waddle across the courtyard toward him.

“ _Baggins_!” it squawked again.

“Yes, yes. I heard you.” Bilbo reached out tentatively and the raven lifted its leg obligingly.

He unwrapped the tiny leather ties and took the parchment. The raven hopped back a step and blinked up at the hobbit expectantly.

Ori reminded him that the ravens often recieved a treat once their job was done as payment.

“All I have is a few biscuits from elevensies,” Bilbo dug into his pockets.

The bird quarked again, snatching the biscuits from Bilbo’s fingers and narrowly missing tender fingers.

Bilbo yanked his hand back as the bird flew away. “You’re welcome,” he grumbled, checking to see that he hadn’t lost a thumb.

Bilbo unrolled the bit of parchment and as he read, it was as if all the warmth in his bones seeped into the ground. His expression must have been frightful, for Ori made a strangled noise and was at his side in an instant.

“Mister Bilbo! What’s wrong? You’ve gone white as a sheet,” the young dwarf said frantically.

Bilbo felt a shaky breath leave his chest, his forehead suddenly clammy and his stomach tied in knots. He raised a trembling hand to his face and reread the note a second time.

After a long moment, while Ori worked himself up into a dither, Bilbo looked up at his friend.

“I have to leave, Ori.” His voice was but a bare whisper, fear coiling in his gut at the thought of having to face Thorin a second time over this matter.

But there was nothing for it. The King of the Dwarves would simply _have_ to let him go now. He had to.

When Ori’s mouth dropped open like a trap door, Bilbo sighed and looked back at the note, sent all the way from Hobbiton.

“I have to go home. Now.”

“But… but why?” Ori asked in a reedy voice.

Bilbo was already getting up and taking off his work gloves, dusting the dirt from his trouser knees.

“My cousins have passed away. Drowned in the Brandywine River,” Bilbo stated. His chest felt tight at the thought of poor Drogo and Primula Baggins’ fate.

He’d always liked them. Drogo had run with him since their young tween days, following him over hill and dale, fishing and lazing about. Such a dear lad, Drogo.

Bilbo paused at the thought of their little son, Frodo. The wee thing had been but a babe the last time Bilbo had seen him, he’d be nigh on six years old by now. What must he be going through? The Brandybucks would tend to him for the time being, but Bilbo needed to get back and help see to affairs. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins probably had her wretched fingers in every bit of Bag End and Bilbo would be damned if he saw that woman haul off his nephew like a sack of potatoes as well.

“Oh dear,” said Ori, tagging after Bilbo as he left the garden and made for his rooms. “I’m sorry, Mister Bilbo. But… wait, where are you going?”

“To change clothes and then to see the king, of course. I’ll need to leave as soon as possible,” Bilbo said, already mentally making a list of supplies and trinkets to bring home.

“But… that is to say I do not think…” Ori hemmed and hawed until Bilbo slowed down to face him.

“Ori, please send word to Thorin that I wish to speak with him.”

Ori picked at this knitted gloves miserably. “Must you really go?”

Bilbo cocked his head, exasperated. “What do you – Ori, its _family_! Surely you of all understand the importance of being there for family?”

Ori nodded hastily. “Oh yes. Of course I do, but… but the king will be–"

“The king cannot keep me from my duty to my fellow Bagginses,” Bilbo said harshly. “And if he tries…well, then he is not the dwarf I thought I knew.”

Ori wilted at that. “He will be most aggrieved, Mister Baggins, to see you leave this mountain.”

“Yes. Well,” Bilbo took a deep breath, steeling himself for the fight he knew would come. “He must be made to see reason.”

 

Dread burned hot in Bilbo’s stomach as he neared the massive doors to Thorin’s study. He wasn’t sure Ori had sent word, though he guessed he’d be able to tell the moment he laid eyes on the king. He’d rehearsed his arguments over and over, though part of him just knew Thorin could not deny him the duty to his family at a time like this.

Bilbo stared down at the tiny scroll that gave a halting message of his cousins’ death and the disposition of little orphan Frodo. Bilbo had to make sure the wee lad was alright; on top of making sure he even still had a house left after those dreadful Sackville-Bagginses got their slimy paws all over it.

“He’s not here, lad.”

Bilbo pulled up short, nearly running head first into the ridiculously huge chest of Dwalin. The king’s guard met him before the doors to the study and gave him what passed for a sympathetic look, for the old warrior.

“But - but I’ve important business to discuss with Thorin, Dwalin,” Bilbo spluttered.

“Aye and well he knows, Halfling. But he’s been called away to Dale this night to attend to business of his own with Bard and his troops.” Dwalin said, is voice low and steady. “Word of orcs making their way out of the Misty Mountains and through Mirkwood has come from those blasted tree-shaggers and Thorin is meeting with the elf prince and Bard as to what to do about it.”

“Orcs? This far in?” Bilbo took a step back from the huge dwarf, glancing over his shoulder as the news pushed his irritation with Thorin to the back burner.

Dwalin stepped a bit closer and for all his great strength, placed a surprisingly gentle hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

“Do not fear, little burglar. You’re well protected in these halls. No orc would dare cross the forest river nor venture close to Esgaroth.”

Bilbo did not feel the least bit assured, worry pinching at his chest that Thorin himself had taken on the duty of patrol.

“Those bloody tree-shaggers can deal with them for all I care. What right do they have to ask for the help of dwarves when it was they who imprisoned us?” Dwalin snarled.

Bilbo wisely stepped out from under his hand, lest the great meaty paw squeeze his shoulder blade to dust in anger. He did not envy Thorin’s job of meeting with the Men and Elves over these dark tidings but he did have a more pressing problem of his own.

Except Dwalin’s news of greater danger from orc and goblin raids on the traveling roads did not make his request any more likely to be granted.

“When will Thorin return? I need to speak with him about making preparations for my departure,” Bilbo said firmly.

Dwalin looked down at the hobbit, his face losing some of the fearsome anger and Bilbo was shocked to see that he looked, well, apologetic.

“The king will not return this night, Master Baggins. He knows of nature of yer request to leave.”

Bilbo wondered if there were any secrets all under this mountain. Everyone seemed to know his business. But the tenor of Dwalin’s words was ominous. Bilbo was sure there was a ‘but’ coming…

“However,” the old warrior stated, squaring his shoulders a little, “he has given me leave to tell you that he cannot grant yer request.”

Bilbo took a step back and glared. “I believe I will have to hear that from the king himself.”

Dwalin shook his head ruefully. “I can’t tell you when that’ll be, laddie. These meetings may drag for days. A week at the most.”

“But I do not have a week to wait. It will take weeks to return to the Shire and I’ve been gone long enough already,” Bilbo fumed. He clapped his hands over his head and tried very hard not to tear at his hair.

“What right do you dwarves have to keep me here? Have I not proven myself?” He was being unreasonable, he knew, for he understood his friends were trying to protect him. But a part of him couldn’t help but think he was being waylaid and placated and that the danger really wasn’t that bad.

Dwalin huffed, leaning on his ax. “You’ve proven yerself a fine little comrade, Bilbo, but that has nothing to do with this. We’re not holdin’ ya fer ransom. You’re part of our Company, aren’t ya?”

Dwalin actually sounded a bit hurt and Bilbo heaved a sigh.

“I need to go home, Dwalin,” Bilbo said quietly, meeting the warrior’s gaze head-on.

Dwalin’s expression went vulnerable for a moment, as if he simply couldn’t figure the halfling out and it was the oddest thing Bilbo had ever seen on this most fearsome dwarf’s face.

“You do not understand. How could you not understand what you’d be doin’ to him if you left?” Dwalin asked, voice hushed and raw.

Bilbo swallowed at the intensity in Dwalin’s words and eyes. What on earth was he on about?

“Doing what to whom? Why is everyone speaking in riddles of late, I might as well be back in that cave with that Gollum creature!” Bilbo said.

“You know of whom I speak, hobbit.” Dwalin growled.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked finally. “I’m not trying to do anything to him. I’ve promised I’ll return after all. How could taking a month or so to go see to my affairs at home and tend to my family be such a hardship on the king?” Bilbo was growing frantic again.

No one would give him a straight answer. And while his heart swelled at the thought of Thorin’s thoughtful gift and the gentleness in his eyes when they spent what little time they could together, he couldn’t see why his absence would affect the king so. Bilbo cared very deeply for Thorin, he knew this, but he still was not sure where these feelings would lead in the long run for them.

And Bilbo had not forgotten the words of those awful dwarves at the party. Whatever he might secretly wish, the King Under the Mountain deserved more than a mere hobbit at his side.

Dwalin broke eye contact then, his weight sagging on his ax. “It is not my place to make you understand. I can’t–" he shook his head and Bilbo had never seen the mighty Dwalin so miserable. Not even in Thranduil’s prison.

“The matter is closed for now, halfling,” Dwalin said at last, and there was granite in his words. “You can take it up with Thorin when he returns.” And with that, he turned to leave.

Bilbo jerked forward. “Now wait just a minute–"

Dwalin swung around faster than Bilbo could blink and hauled him up by the arm. The hobbit’s feet fairly dangled a good inch above the ground and his breath stole from his lungs as the warrior’s face contorted in a rage. Bilbo had always been intimidated by Dwalin but now he was terrified, for never had the massive dwarf’s terrifying temper been aimed at him.

“I said _no_ ,” Dwalin bellowed and gave Bilbo a shake that rattled his teeth.

Bilbo scrabbled for purchase before giving the dwarf a good kick in the knee that seemed to bring him back to his senses. Dwalin hastily set the hobbit down and looked horrified as Bilbo back away, rubbing his sore arm.

“In this, at least, I’ll protect him…” Dwalin muttered, but Bilbo didn’t hang around to ask what he meant.

The hobbit turned tail and ran, slipping his Ring on for good measure so he wouldn’t be stopped by any dwarves bent on manhandling him. He knew in his heart Dwalin did not mean anything by his actions but none of this was going to get him home any faster.

Bilbo stopped by the kitchens and pilfered a couple of sticky buns on his way back to his rooms, only removing his ring when he was safely inside. He sagged against the door and scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to will his emotions away.

He’d wait for Thorin to return and make one final attempt. If that failed, Bilbo would find another way. Even if it meant finding someone in Dale to accompany him home.

 

TBC...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather large chapter for you wonderful readers who continually make my day with your comments and kudos. I wanted to get this up before I have to spend the rest of this weekend entertaining my in-laws. 
> 
> Which... will not be fun. 
> 
> Also, do not think harshly of Dwalin in this. He knows well what might befall his beloved king should Bilbo leave AND he's mightily worried about the burglar too. So basically, he's got feels and he's tired of stupid dwarves and hobbits tip-toeing around theirs. 
> 
> I love hearing from you guys!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin wonders if he can love enough to let go...

Thorin’s meetings went longer than planned and even entailed a trip with a small garrison to Mirkwood. He didn’t actually enter that damndable forest, just scouted the edges with his men for sign that goblin or orc had crossed into the lands before Esgaroth.  Despite Legolas Greenleaf’s assurances that goblin signs had been found on the far side of the forest, none could be found here.

After their slaughter at the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin could not imagine those craven beasts daring to challenge the dwarf kingdom again. But he did breathe a sigh of relief for the safety of his people, though tenuous, seemed to be assured for a while longer.

He and his guardsmen made their way back to the main gates, though Thorin pulled off to the side and lingered as his men entered. He would not admit to himself that he dallied on purpose, not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation with Bilbo. Dwalin had joined him the next day in Dale and told him of the halfling’s reaction to Thorin’s decision.

His old friend begged forgiveness for his harshness with the hobbit and though the protective beast in Thorin’s soul reared its head and snarled at the idea of his hobbit in fear, he knew Dwalin had lost his temper out of concern for his king.

Bilbo would hide himself from Thorin yet again and the dwarf’s heart ached at the thought. Even on the edge of the forest, a few mere miles from the mountain, Thorin’s soul strained against the distance from his One. It was enough to distract the king from scouting to the worry of his troops, and that frightened him to his core.

If a few miles had his mind and soul in a panic, what would it be like if the hobbit made it all the way back to the Shire? Thorin felt vaguely sick at that thought.

The last of his men rode through the gates and made for the stables when something tall and grey caught Thorin’s eye.

Gandalf strode toward him, staff in hand and intent in his eye. Thorin nearly groaned. The last thing he needed now was meddlesome wizards bringing ill news to his doorstep.

He very nearly turned his pony and rode into the mountain when the old wizard was suddenly at his side.

“I am pleased to find you in good health on this fine day, Thorin, son of Thrain.” The wizard nodded his head in deference and Thorin returned the gesture.

Thorin slid down from his pony to walk beside the Grey Pilgrim.

“What brings you back to the mountain, Gandalf?” Thorin was loath to hear the answer.

Gandalf matched his steps to the dwarf king’s. “I have been in the East on business and am merely traveling through,” he said genially. “Your kingdom is healing, Thorin and I am amazed at its progress.”

“Dwarves have no equal in rebuilding our homes,” Thorin said proudly. “Within another year or so the splendor of Erebor will once again be unparalleled in all of Middle Earth.”

“Just so,” Gandalf agreed. “It does my heart good to see this entire area on the mend after so much death and destruction.”

Thorin nodded as he handed his pony off to a groom and made for the Great Hall. Gandalf followed along, making one comment or another about the restorations and Thorin’s dread kept building. The Grey Wizard did not simply stop by for a chat over tea. That old trickster had something up his sleeve.

Thorin didn’t realize that he was heading toward Bilbo’s quarters – his body just seemed to steer itself in that direction – until Gandalf asked, “And how is our hobbit doing?”

“Fine,” Thorin grumbled.

The clinking of his armor contrasted with the gentle swishing of Gandalf’s robes as they found themselves on the upper balcony overlooking the Great Hall. Behind them, the battlements of the main gates, banners snapping in the breeze.

“I think I should have a word with Bilbo, if you don’t mind,” Gandalf said, as if Thorin had a choice. Wizards do as they please, curse them.

“What about?” Thorin stopped and glared up at the taller man.

Gandalf tilted his head in an infuriatingly superior manner. “That is between Mister Baggins and myself, Thorin Oakenshield. I’m quite aware that he’s received some bad news from home–"

“ _This_ is his home now,” Thorin snarled under his breath before he could stop himself. He covered his shock at his own outburst by turning and adjusting Ocrist on his back.

Where had _that_ come from?

Gandalf simply stood there, staring straight through Thorin’s soul, one bushy brow raised in question.

“I see,” he said and Thorin wanted to throw something so very badly. “Well, I rather think that’s up to Bilbo, don’t you?”

“He cannot leave, wizard,” Thorin said, his voice deep and harsh. “It is far too dangerous.”

“Yes, it is. But this is about family, Thorin. You understand that better than most.”

Thorin did. By Mahal he did. But something deep inside railed and ranted at the thought of his small, brave little hobbit leaving the mountain and going into the cruel wilderlands without him.

Thorin simply could not leave his kingdom, not now.

Something shuffled near the corner of the great wall. Both Thorin and Gandalf moved to the other side of a massive pillar to spy the hobbit in question, folded into a nook on the battlements, scribbling something on a parchment.

The near constant pang that had ridden in Thorin’s soul during his sojourn outside the mountain eased at the sight of his hobbit, and Thorin was never so sure of his One than he was at that moment. Though the hobbit did not see or hear them due to the distance, Thorin’s chest felt lighter, his burden lifted somewhat and he took a deep, steadying breath.

Gandalf’s gaze alternated between him and Bilbo, obviously plotting behind the guise of looking contemplative.

Thorin watched Bilbo bring the quill to his mouth in thought, the feather brushing his lips like a whisper and he felt something molten and dark sweep through his body. Oh, but how he longed to follow that feather’s path with his tongue.

Gandalf cleared his throat and Thorin shuttered his expression of blatant yearning. He glared at the wizard.

Gandalf nodded. “My dear king, your façade is fooling no one.”

“I know not what you mean, wizard. What business have you with Bilbo?”

“I’ve come to see him safely back to the Shire to attend to his family in their time of need.”

Thorin’s eyes went wide and he took a step backward. Something seized in his chest, although if he were honest, he’d foreseen this the minute he’d laid eyes on the old wizard. Gandalf had brought the hobbit into Thorin’s life and now he was there to take him from it.

“No.” Thorin hadn’t meant to say it so weakly but his chest felt caved in by a mattock.

“No?” asked Gandalf.

“I will not allow him to be in danger,” Thorin crossed his arms over his chest and stood firm, glaring balefully up at the wizard.

“Think you I’d let harm come to that hobbit, Thorin Oakenshield? He is very dear to me,” Gandalf blustered, clearly affronted.

“His family has gotten along for two years in his absence, they will be fine until we can be assured the roads are safe.”

The old man closed his eyes and sighed, as though so very put upon by dwarfs and the woes of the world.

“There is nothing in this world that can guarantee anyone’s safety, my King, and well you know it. But Bilbo has been through … the _absolute_ worst that I could ever imagine for a hobbit and yet he has proven himself. And that should be more than enough to earn him the right to choose his own path for himself.”

Thorin felt the truth of the old man’s words knock hard against his heart. Though his soul wailed at the thought, he knew Bilbo deserved more than to be _told_ his destiny. Despite this, Thorin felt a black and uncontrollable urge swell inside to scoop the hobbit up and lock him deep in the mountain, behind doors that would disappear into nothingness, that would keep him forever safe.

The king shuddered visibly, gulping down a breath and looked at Bilbo sitting on the wall. The setting sun set the hobbit’s russet curls alight like spun gold, his skin glowed better than the finest moonstone and Thorin felt his heart surge into his throat at the unguarded beauty.

Then Bilbo lifted his head and stared off into the west, squinting against the orange sunlight and sighed.

Thorin’s fists clenched as he realized that Bilbo was looking homeward, toward the kindly West, longing written all over his beloved’s features. The king knew then that he could not keep his hobbit all to himself.

Thorin felt the torment return to his soul along with a sense of drowning so strong he couldn’t draw breath.

Gandalf rested a hand on the king’s broad shoulder.

“Sometimes the strength of love’s bonds must be tested by letting go, Thorin.”

“He is my One,” Thorin murmured, voice breaking. “I have lived for nearly two centuries, all the while missing a part of my very soul. Tell me, wizard, how am I to let a part of myself go when I’ve only just found it?”

Gandalf looked so ancient and melancholy then, staring down at the heartsick dwarf king. Thorin didn’t have the strength to put up a front and allowed his agony to shine unshed in his eyes.

“If he is your One, _truly_ , he will return to you Thorin, son of Thrain. You must believe that.”

Thorin looked back at his beloved, who scratched his head idly as he finished his writing. He couldn’t keep him, not when Bilbo’s heart yearned for rolling green hills and little rivers. Thorin couldn’t crush that defiant spark in Bilbo’s nature by forcing him to stay where he did not want to be.

He’d hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Bilbo would come to love the mountain as Thorin did, along with the affection and acceptance of the Company to affirm Bilbo’s place in their family. Then, he could make his feelings known as he’d intended that night of the party with his family’s ring.

Thorin rubbed at his chest, as if he could grind out the pain and spreading weakness deep under his breast bone and said finally, “Take him then, Gandalf. See him to his comfy home under the hill. I will send what guards I can spare to see you to Bree.”

Thorin turned, shoulders drooped and made leave but Gandalf stopped him.

“And you?” the wizard asked.

Thorin swallowed the burn in his throat. “I will await his return, if that is his choosing.”

He’d gone a few steps when he stopped and addressed Gandalf one last time, his voice bitter but unyielding and deep as the caverns of old.

“Keep him safe, Gandalf.”

“You have my word, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin didn’t remember how he made it back to his royal chambers, but the clanking of his weapons and armor reverberated through the stately room as the great King Under the Mountain slid miserably down his closed doors to the floor, looking and feeling for all the world like he’d been gutted by a thousand blades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worst. Day. Ever. And hey, Thorin's day isn't much better. Poor darling. And yeah I totally went there with the whole "you've got to love him enough to let him go" because the trope WORKS. 
> 
> There was a lot of "WHY MUST YOU HURT ME!" screaming from my beta Sparklyslug in this chapter. The answer? Because I must hurt Thorin to get him to THINK and FEEL and .... not be a blockhead. 
> 
> Yeah. I need a drink. I hope you enjoy this!


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo's return to the Shire results in family interference, the care and keeping of young fauntlings, and a much needed wake up call from his friends who miss him so.

Bilbo almost couldn’t believe his eyes as the rocky terrain turned to deep green forests, heralding his return to the land of Eriador. They passed Bree, where the dwarvish guard Thorin had sent bade them farewell and headed back to Erebor.

Bilbo still couldn’t believe Thorin had consented, but perhaps Gandalf had insisted. Bilbo didn’t ask what had transpired but figured that even a bullheaded dwarf king like Thorin wasn’t daft enough to anger a wizard. Gandalf had told Bilbo they would depart in a day or so, but Bilbo did not see the King until the day they left. But Bilbo would never forget the look on Thorin’s face when he saw the halfling off.

He’d been anxious and jittery as the last of his supplies were loaded into Gandalf’s wagon, and the King had spoken not a word while the rest of the Company said their goodbyes. To Bilbo’s horror there were tears in the eyes of most of the dwarfs, despite his attempts to assure them that that he would return.

Kili and Fili simply would not release him and Bilbo nearly sobbed when Kili tearfully brought his forehead to the hobbit’s, softly begging Bilbo not to leave. Fili, who managed his grief only marginally better than his brother, had pulled Kili away and Bilbo watched as the younger prince leaned on his brother with tear-streaked cheeks.

It was simply wrong to see such bright stars as the Durin princes so utterly heartbroken.  Bilbo felt tears in his own eyes and quickly brushed them away as he made for the wagon. If he didn’t go now, he might never be able to leave.

Thorin stood there waiting, arms crossed over his chest as if cradling a wound. Bilbo nearly broke down fully at the misery in his King’s eyes, but Thorin managed a sorrowful smile.

“Be safe, my hobbit,” Thorin murmured, voice like gravel scraping against the road. He pulled Bilbo into a fiercely tender hug and the hobbit gratefully buried his tears in Thorin’s chest.

“I will,” Bilbo said, easing back a bit and let out a strained laugh. “So many tears as if you believe you’re finally rid of me. How ridiculous.”

Thorin’s face crumpled a little and Bilbo almost couldn’t breathe. He leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to Bilbo’s brow, then pulled back to caress the hobbit’s cheek.

“Be safe… and return to me, Bilbo.” Not a request but a plea; Thorin’s voice naught but a whisper.

Bilbo swallowed thickly and nodded. “I promise I’ll return. Back before you know I’m gone.” He tried gamely for levity but everything seemed to be drowning in the fierce ache in his chest and the sadness in Thorin’s blue eyes.

Thinking back on it, Bilbo rubbed his chest absently as the wagon clattered along through Buckland. He’d asked Gandalf about the persistent pang just to the left of his breastbone since leaving the mountain, if there were something seriously wrong, but the wizard just smiled ruefully and told him that it would probably fade.  Bilbo didn’t quite believe him.

Their journey was relatively free of incident, save one close call with a few bandits. But the guard Thorin sent along, with Gandalf’s help, sent the ruffians to scattering soon enough. He and Gandalf left the dwarves in Bree as they refilled supplies for the long trek back to the mountain.

Soon the forest gave way to gentle hills and long, lush grasses undulating like a great green sea and Bilbo knew, save for the pull in his heart, that he was home.

Then, of course, he saw his precious belongings being auctioned off under the miserly eye of one Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and Bilbo seriously considered using his elvish blade Sting on the whole lot of them.

The days blended together in a cacophony of cleaning, organizing and tending to family. His neighbors gave Bilbo a wide berth for weeks and more than once he’d heard the term “Mad Baggins” bandied about when he’d gone to the Green Dragon for a pint. Not that he was surprised, mind you. He had done a most un-hobbitish thing and gone on a great adventure with a bunch of brutish dwarves and one crazy old wizard, after all.

But one by one, his friends softened their bearing around him. Old Gamgee’s wife brought him seed cakes while her husband tidied Bilbo’s garden. Bilbo visited little Frodo at Brandy Hall a few times, trying to coax the shy lad out with a few stories, but never got very far. The boy was painfully withdrawn, mutedly following his cousins around the great smial like a shadow. Bilbo worried Frodo would be overrun by his rowdy cousins and began to think that perhaps it would be better for the lad to live with him at Bag End, though he did not know how this would affect his plans to eventually return to the Lonely Mountain. Alas, he would worry about that later.

Of course, the Sackville-Bagginses kicked up a fuss about an old bachelor like Bilbo taking in a young hobbitling alone. Bilbo had a few choice words for them and Lobelia shrieked like a scalded cat about how “those dreadful dwarves” had corrupted him.

Bilbo couldn’t help but think of his dwarves – for they _were_ his, just as he’d become used to being called _their_ hobbit – wondering how they were. How Thorin was, more specifically. Fathomless blue eyes, a dark mane and a voice like muted thunder haunted his dreams, causing Bilbo’s “condition” in his chest to worsen. Perhaps he should see a healer about some herbal tea.

Settling Frodo into his house was a simple affair; the lad had few possessions. The more ponderous undertaking consisted of Bilbo learning to be a parent. Frodo was a tiny thing, needing help with his bath and such, and then there was tending to his clothes, making sure he ate well and worrying when he ventured out of the hole on his own. His cousins were very good about coming by to collect Frodo when they went to play and slowly, Frodo seemed to come out of his shell.

It was when Bilbo told Frodo the stories of his adventure that the lad really shined. He asked his uncle about the spiders and the elves, Beorn’s great house and the terrible fire drake draped over a mountain of gold.

“Can the elves cast spells, Uncle?” Frodo would ask. “What did the dragon smell like?” and “How did you ever escape the goblin caves?” His questions never ceased when story time rolled around.

Bilbo left out certain bits he thought Frodo too young to hear - keeping the ring carefully hidden in his pocket at all times, though he felt no urge to use it those days - but the lad was insightful despite Bilbo’s attempts.

“Was Thorin very angry?” Frodo asked one night as Bilbo tucked him in. “About the Arkenstone, that is?”

Bilbo paused, and the muscles in his hands twitched as they hovered over the coverlet. He frowned at the wee hobbit.

“I don’t believe I told you about that, dear one.”

“You said you had to take the king’s treasure to stop a war,” Frodo whispered timidly, clearly thinking he’d angered his uncle. “If it was his treasure, he ought to have been mad.”

“Yes, my boy,” Bilbo sighed. “Thorin was very… very upset.”

Frodo watched him with impossibly large blue eyes. “He frightened you.”

Bilbo didn’t flinch. At least he hoped he didn’t. “Yes.”

“He sounds dreadful,” came the small reply.

Bilbo petted his nephew’s head. “Oh sweetling, he wasn’t… well. Thorin wasn’t himself when that happened. The gold-sickness runs in his family and it changed him. But he apologized later.” Bilbo pointedly left out the details of his banishment and his terror at being held over the ramparts like an offering for the crows.

“He’s really not as scary as all that, Frodo. After everything, he became a great king. Still is. He leads his people with wisdom and bravery.” Bilbo’s quiet admission came with a pointed pinch in his heart that he rubbed at.

The little hobbit watched him closely. “You like him,” Frodo said with a small smile.

“Aye, my boy. I like him,” Bilbo murmured, and set about blowing out the candles in Frodo’s room, leaving one lit in the corner.

Frodo yawned and burrowed into his pillow. “If he’s not all that scary, I’d like to meet him someday.”

Bilbo felt something a lot like longing well up in his soul, so strong it nearly made him whimper. He missed his dwarves, terribly, he realized.

He missed the princeling’s antics – Kili’s exuberance and Fili’s sly smiles. He missed Bofur’s laughter and jokes, and Bombur’s cakes. He missed Bifur’s harried sign language, Dori’s complaints and Nori’s schemes. He missed the sound of Ori’s gentle scribble on parchment and the sight of Balin’s knowing smile. He almost wished to hear Oín yelling for him to repeat himself and Glóin’s earth-shattering snores.

Bilbo even missed the inherent safety of Dwalin’s looming bulk, though it did intimidate him at times.

The hobbit did not understand why the pain was worse now when he’d denied himself Thorin’s company while in the mountain, sometimes actively avoiding the great king in search of solitude to brood over his homesickness. The tightening pull in his chest was present in the mountain while he was parted from the king, but now it plagued him something awful. He missed being drawn to Thorin’s presence like a moth to a flame.

He longed for the feel of great, thick arms encasing him and the tender longing in those deep blue-grey eyes. He missed the sound of that deep, rich voice as Thorin murmured something in the halfling’s ear.

All at once, Bilbo found that he was shaking.

“Uncle Bilbo?” came a sleepy voice. “Will I see the dwarves one day?”

“One day, my lad. Yes. Soon, I hope,” Bilbo said in a quaking voice. “Sleep little one.”

That night, Bilbo stared into the fire for ages, trying to understand why, when he was finally among his beloved books, heirlooms and furniture, did he feel so lost in the want for cool stone, booming voices and gentle callused hands.

 ***

 

If Bilbo was moping, he didn’t realize it until Hamfast and his wife, along with Daisy Cotton and a few of his cousins surrounded him at little Samwise Gamgee’s birthday party some time later and quite pointedly brought it up.

“I most certainly am not moping,” Bilbo groused, shoving off his cousin Odo.

“Oh but you are, dear cousin, and we won’t have it,” Odo confirmed, elbowing Falco and grinning.

Daisy sighed, fanning herself in the late spring heat. “To think, you sitting there in Bag End with little Frodo, pining away for those… those _dwarves_!”

“Beastly creatures,” Prisca Boldger huffed.

Bilbo glared at her.

“Awful manners,” Daisy agreed.

Well, Bilbo really couldn’t disagree with that.

“You simply can’t go back to that horrid mountain, Bilbo,” Falco grabbed his arm, giving it a shake.

“No, certainly not,” Odo echoed.

Bilbo began to feel his skin crawl with all these relatives hanging all over him and informing him of their less than charitable views of his dwarven friends.

“Excuse me,” Bilbo finally shouted over the den of insults case upon all the houses of the dwarves. “But those dwarves are my _friends_. Yes, they are very unlike us hobbits but truer, more loyal comrades you’ll never find. And I _will_ be returning to the Lonely Mountain. I’ve given my word to the King himself.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and dared anyone to speak up. Of course they all did. At once.

“Oh but Bilbo, you can’t!” wailed Daisy.

“Why your father would be rolling in his grave, he would.”

“Got too much of the Tooks in him.”

“We’ll simply have to keep you busy then, won’t we,” Falco said at a last, clapping Bilbo on the shoulder.

“Yes,” said Prisca. “We shall have to keep you so busy you’ll forget all about those dreadful dwarves.”

And that was how Bilbo came to be waylaid into every party, some of them quite huge, and every family get-together his cousins and neighbors could come up with. Mostly he tried to avoid them, but Frodo so enjoyed the music and gayety, Bilbo didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

Spring days gave way to a warm summer and Bilbo tended his garden and taught Frodo his letters and numbers. He started writing about his great adventure, while his relentless family dragged him hither and yon to parties, fishing trips and fêtes. Frodo blossomed into a bright, fun-loving lad who ran with his Brandybuck and Took cousins, worrying Farmer Maggot over his vegetables and coming home covered in mud and brambles.

Bilbo settled into parenthood a lot easier than he’d thought, though he had quite a bit of a fright when Frodo came home one day with a cough and the sniffles that turned into a full blown fever.

Bilbo fretted and over-reacted and somehow managed to muddle through the illness, emerging all the wiser for it.

Frodo had just been allowed back outside, his cough finally cleared up, and Bilbo was in his kitchen, setting things out for luncheon when there was a thunderous knock on his door.  Bilbo grumbled instinctively as he set his meat pies in the oven and wiped his hands on his apron.

“Coming, coming,” he said as he shucked the apron on a chair, heading for the door.

Once he opened it, Bilbo nearly fainted dead away. Two burly, exhausted dwarf princes stood on his stoop, so very much like the first time he ever saw them, but with much more sorrow and fatigue in their eyes. Bilbo staggered back to land on his mother’s glory box with a hard thump.

“Bilbo,” Fili breathed as he stepped inside.

The hobbit sat there, mouth working absently as he tried to speak, a hand going to his chest as if to keep his heart from bursting forth.

Kili shoved around his brother, eyes dark and troubled as he looked around the entry way, as if expecting danger. He looked like he wanted to fling himself in Bilbo’s lap but was holding off by sheer will alone.

“What–" Bilbo gaped. “How did you…” He couldn’t breathe properly; something was wrong with his lungs.

Fili dropped his pack on the floor and rolled his shoulders. “I think he’s having a fit, brother.”

Oh how Bilbo had missed these two dwarves. Fili seemed to be a bit broader in the shoulders, and more lined about the eyes. Kili’s hair seemed a bit longer and wilder, but he still only had a scruff of a beard on his rugged face. They both looked battered and filthy but so achingly beautiful to Bilbo’s eyes he wondered if he were dreaming.

Kili fingered the strap of his quiver, eyes never leaving Bilbo as if he were trying to convince himself he was really there in the hobbit’s home.

“He doesn’t look as if he’s been kept under duress,” Kili muttered darkly.

Fili winced and Bilbo finally came back to himself.

“Under duress? What are you talking about, Kili?” the hobbit asked in a shaky voice.

Fili moved forward and held out a hand. “Not even a welcome, Bilbo?” the golden prince asked cheekily, changing the subject.

Bilbo stood and stepped forward, looking over each prince as though he were a long lost prize and smiled. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s so good to see you both.”

Kili, who’d always been the first to jump on Bilbo in rowdy hugs, who wore his emotions openly for all to see, bit his lip fitfully and held back. He looked from Bilbo to his brother, his hands fidgeting and entire being vibrating with suppressed need but clearly afraid of his welcome. Bilbo stared up at the prince and understood.

“Oh Kili,” was all the hobbit could say before the lad rushed him, bodily slamming into Bilbo and sweeping him off the floor in a bone breaking hug.

Kili buried his face in Bilbo’s shoulder and to his distress, the hobbit heard something like a sob escape the prince. In a moment he felt another set of powerful arms embrace him from behind as Fili completed the circle and sighed happily.

“It’s been so long, Bilbo,” Kili mumbled brokenly.

Bilbo swallowed thickly. How long had it been? A couple of months?

“I–"

“Six months,” Fili patted his brother’s head over Bilbo’s shoulder. “We’d almost given you up for lost.”

Oh dear. Six months?

“I didn’t realize,” Bilbo started as Fili stepped back.

Kili set Bilbo down but refused to let go, like a child clutching a toy in a thunderstorm.

“Let’im breathe a little, brother,” Fili said gently.

Kili backed off, swiping hand under his nose and sniffling loudly. Bilbo’s heart broke.

“We thought you’d have returned by now, Bilbo,” Kili said miserably. “We thought someone was keeping you from us.”

“I’m so sorry, lads,” Bilbo tried to stop his hands from shaking as he gestured the dwarves inside toward the kitchen “Time just flew by with everything…” He trailed off, wanting to settle his nerves and the weary dwarf princes before telling them about Frodo, who was due home at any time.

He raced to find them something to eat, fetching some salted beef, smoked trout, his best tomatoes, along with bread, cheese and ale from his larder. As he suspected, the princes were ravenous and they’d put a fair sized dent in his pantry by the time they pushed back from the table.

Kili’s spirit improved with a full belly, but he scooted as closely to Bilbo as he could while he ate, as though he were afraid Bilbo would hare off if he lowered his gaze. Fili, too, seemed inordinately attentive, offering to get up and refill Bilbo’s tea, to the hobbit’s consternation. Both boys seemed to be on their best behavior, none of the raucous whooping and hollering as they usually did at mealtime in Erebor.

Once Fili cleared the plates, he sat down and leaned forward on the table, hands clasped seriously. Kili edged closer to Bilbo with a hand on the back of Bilbo’s chair.

“Now,” Bilbo said, trying to ignore the way the dwarves were subtly closing in around him as if he would blink from existence. “Tell me why you’ve ventured so far from the mountain. I can’t imagine your Uncle would have allowed his two heirs so far from home on dangerous roads.”

Kili looked pained, glancing at his brother for assurance. Bilbo squeezed the lad’s hand, wishing to bestow some comfort and was rewarded with a wan smile.

“It is _because_ of Uncle that we traveled here,” Fili stated, as though it should be obvious.

It felt as if an iron band cinched tight around Bilbo’s heart.

Kili leaned in, searching the hobbit’s face. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“What?” Bilbo felt sick. “What’s happened boys? Is Thorin alright?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Fili hedged, rubbing at his beard. “He’s not _ill_ , precisely...”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes.

“He’s not well at all,” Kili all but shouted. Bilbo jerked as Kili gripped his shoulder, imploringly. “The king withers, Bilbo. Heart and soul he deteriorates.” Kili looked to Fili again, “You’ve seen how weak he’s become, Fili. Barely eating or sleeping. And he rages at the least little thing.”

Fili sighed and nodded and Bilbo felt like his lunch was about to come back up.

Bilbo’s fear mingled with anger. “Why have the healers not seen to him?”

“Tis not an illness that the healers can treat, Bilbo,” Fili said ominously. “It is Thorin’s soul that is sickly, not his body.”

Bilbo rose and stepped to his kitchen window, rubbing a shaky hand down his face. “What could have caused this?”

There was a derisive snort from behind him. “Can you really not think of a reason, Bilbo?” Sweet, jovial Kili sounded caustic and angry now.

“Brother,” Fili warned. “He’s not a dwarf, remember.”

“It cannot be because of me,” Bilbo breathed, looking at the princelings in astonishment. “I-I know he cares… that _we_ … care about each other but that cannot cause…”

“He’s grieving for the loss of his _One_ , Bilbo,” Fili explained. “No one told you of this because it was not our place. But now, we’ve no choice.”

“You have to come home with us,” Kili implored.

“His … One?”

Fili stood and placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, whether to comfort or to keep the quaking hobbit from falling to the floor, he didn’t know.

“We dwarves love only once and only when we’ve found our One. There is a legend in the line of Durin that dwarves were once made up of two souls joined as One.”

Kili came to stand on Bilbo’s other side, mirroring his brother, offering tentative smile. “The story says that Eru felt that Mahal’s creations would grow too powerful, joined as they were, so he split the dwarves’ souls.”

“We were fated to search our long lives for the other half of our Whole. To find our One.” Fili finished, looking at his brother with bone-deep affection.

_Oh._

Bilbo needed to sit. Or lay down. Or both. His knees felt like jelly and the lads helped him to a chair when he swayed dangerously.

“But,” he struggled to wrap his head around it, “but that’s just a story. Isn’t it? I-I believe I remember seeing something in one of the books from Erebor’s Library but I never thought it was anything more than a _fairytale_.”

“Aye, but legends have a ring of truth to them,” Fili said. “We keep our stories a secret, like our language. None but the dwarves would know of this and it is exceedingly rare for a bonded pair to be found between two different peoples.”

“But you and Uncle found each other, Bilbo, don’t you understand now?” Kili pleaded.

“No! No I don’t understand. You think I am Thorin’s other half? How does that even work for a dwarf and a hobbit?”

Fili shrugged. “Only Mahal knows. But for you and the King, it’s the truth.”

Bilbo’s head fell into his hands. That was why everyone acted so queerly around him before he left. Why Thorin suddenly wanted to be closer to the hobbit after the war and why he decided to become more… physically affectionate of late.

He was seeking formal courtship! And Bilbo had actually hidden himself from Thorin, of all the stupid things.

“There is another part,” Kili said, placing his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and squeezing slightly. “Once we find our One, we cannot be parted from them for long.”

“Great distance strains the bond and,” Fili paused, looking worried, “well, can impact one’s health.”

Bilbo’s head shot up at that. “Are you telling me that Thorin is weakened because I left?”

“Yes!” Kili cried. “That is why we’ve come to fetch you home, Bilbo. Uncle needs you.”

Bilbo rubbed absently at his chest, before realizing what he was doing. That would explain why he’d felt that ache in his ribs since he ventured from Erebor and why, even though he was back home, he felt bereft of something important. Maybe there was something to this dwarven legend after all. He still didn’t see why Thorin would wane while he himself did not.

The door to Bag End swung wide and a dirty, happy little hobbit bounded inside. “Uncle Bilbo, you should see the trout Sam caught at the creek! It’s as big as–"

Frodo skidded to a halt at the sight of two dwarves standing around his uncle. The poor lad turned white as a sheet and squeaked, before tearing away to his room to hide. Kili and Fili looked confused as Bilbo got to his feet and went after his terrified nephew.

After a while he emerged from Frodo’s room, having dug the boy out from under his bed and carried the tiny Halfling to meet the princes.

“Your highnesses,” Bilbo said as Fili and Kili came to stand at attention in front of him. “This is my nephew, Frodo. Frodo,” he spoke to back of Frodo’s head as the boy tried to disappear in his uncle’s shoulder, “These are the princes of Erebor.”

When one frightened blue eye emerged from burrowing in Bilbo’s collar, both dwarves dipped in low bows.

“Kili…”

“And Fili…”

“At your service,” they said in unison.

Frodo lifted his head then and blinked at them. Kili looked utterly enchanted and Fili smiled warmly.

“These are the princes from your stories?” Frodo murmured.

Both dwarves beamed then, Kili nudging his brother. “Isn’t he sweet?”

“Told stories about us then, Bilbo? I knew you missed us,” Fili chuckled.

“I did miss you, very much,” Bilbo said without hesitation.

Kili tore his fascinated gaze from the wee hobbit and looked at Bilbo, a desperate sadness settling over him again.

“Then come home, Bilbo. _Please_.”

Bilbo felt his heart shatter. Emotion clogged his throat and he hugged Frodo close. He knew he’d stayed in the Shire too long, lost in the tempest of relatives and tending to Frodo. Parties and gardening and Frodo’s fever…all had conspired to drive the dwarves from his thoughts.

Thorin needed him. He could actually be dying, withering away from heartbreak and Bilbo struggled for breath.  He wouldn't let that happen. Because as long as it too him to figure it out (truly, he was an addle-brained fool) Bilbo knew that he needed that stubborn old dwarf too. His heart jumped in his chest, decision made.

“Frodo, you need to go pack your things,” Bilbo whispered to his nephew.

Frodo frowned up at him. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes, my lad. To Erebor – kingdom of the dwarves.”

And then both hobbits were swept up in burly arms, as the dwarf princes let out a cheer in Khuzdul that rattled the rafters.

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I get any of Bilbo's cousins or lengthy family lineage wrong, I blame the Baggins' family tree source I used online. And I thought about having Bilbo be gone longer, but what is happening to Thorin is, well, deadly. if any of you have seen the old-school 'Beauty and the Beast' Movie with Rebecca De Mornay, you know that Beauty's absence alone nearly killed her Beast. 
> 
> This soul-bond is serious for Dwarves. 
> 
> One chapter left and I think you guys will love it!


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...” - Plato, The Symposium

The Lonely Mountain loomed ahead as they approached the city of Dale, and Bilbo had never been so glad to see that craggy old rock in all his life. The return to Erebor had been more dangerous than Bilbo had foreseen. Kili and Fili had brought a few dwarf soldiers with them who had stayed in Bree while the princes retrieved the hobbit. But that did not stop the orc hunting parties they encountered past Rivendale.

Bilbo had prayed he’d never have to use Sting again to defend the ones he loved, but with little Frodo cowering in the cart, he thought nothing of jumping into the fray with his dwarf  comrades; Fili hacking away at the enemy while Kili’s arrows found their marks imbedded in orc skulls.

After that they rode hard, lingering only to give the young hobbit a respite, Bilbo assuring a weary Frodo that they were close, only a little further.

Frodo peeped out from his uncle’s arms as they neared the vast gates to the mountain and shivered.

“This place is scary, Uncle Bilbo.”

Bilbo petted his dark curls and kissed his head. “Not to worry my lad. It’s just that we are so small. It’s really quite extraordinary inside.”

“Aye,” Kili pulled his pony up to the wagon and reached over to touch Frodo’s arm. “You’ll love it, little one. Your uncle even has a garden here that will be a grand place for hide and seek.”

Bilbo smiled at Kili, charmed by how much the youngest prince had taken to Frodo. He hoped the others in the company felt the same. He wondered after his garden, probably gone to seed and left to rot in his long absence.

Anxiety ate away at Bilbo’s insides, worrying for Thorin’s health. Kili and Fili had assured him that the King was made of sterner stuff than all that, but hearing that Thorin had been weakend at all set Bilbo’s heart to racing. The King could not appear to wane, not with dissenters in the ranks.

After sending Frodo off to the kitchens with the princes, Balin met Bilbo at the doors to the throne room, giving the hobbit a hearty hug.

“Oh laddie, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you back,” Balin said, wiping tears of joy from his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I did not know my leaving would be so detrimental to everyone,” Bilbo wrung his hands, glancing at the doors. “Is he…?”

Balin nodded, suddenly serious. “We’ll have to wait, though. The King has just presided over an execution.”

Bilbo blanched. “What?”

“Some miners from the Iron Hills tried to steal in order to fund a revolt. They believe Dain should rule, though make no mistake, Dain has his hands full in the Iron Hills,” Balin explained.

“But… an execution?” Bilbo shuddered.

The great doors to the throne room opened and a throng of dwarves waited inside. Balin ushered Bilbo inside, along the pathway that lead to the mighty stalactite that dipped down from the abyss above to create the throne.

“Thorin has no use or patience for scheming traitors who would stir up trouble. Especially not these days.”

Bilbo wondered how many others had felt the bite of the King’s fury since his absence. Surely this wasn’t because of their supposed bond? He swallowed the bile in his throat, suddenly afraid to see what had become of his dwarf.

Balin nodded toward the dais. “Only in the last few days has he regained enough strength to leave his rooms.” At Bilbo’s horror-struck look he continued, “It would not do for the people to see their king in such a weakened state. He was nearly bedridden for the last month. We worried he might slip away. Thank Mahal that he has finally rallied in these last few days.”

There on the throne, sat Thorin; every bit as resplendent as Bilbo remembered. He nodded to his scribes and Bilbo could hear a few words of Khuzdul uttered in that soul-shivering timbre before the king dismissed his audience. As the dwarfs dispersed, Bilbo watched Thorin slump to the side of this throne, looking bone weary and cast down.

Now that he was a little closer, Bilbo could see the ashen complexion and the dark smudges under the King’s eyes. Dwalin appeared and almost had to help Thorin rise from the great stone chair. Bilbo felt his stomach drop to his knees.

The lads hadn’t been exaggerating, for Thorin looked like he’d aged another hundred years in Bilbo’s absence. His heart pulled and tugged like a wayward horse on a lead, urging him to his King’s side but his furry feet remained rooted to the ground.

Soon, it was just Balin and the hobbit standing before the throne of Erebor and finally Thorin glanced up.

Bilbo froze and Thorin seemed to turn to stone, shock etched into his face. He took a shuddering breath and used Dwalin’s arm to brace himself.

“Bilbo?” Thorin had never sounded so uncertain; as if Bilbo were a wraith conjured by his mind.

The hobbit took a step or two forward, his hand going to his chest as if trying to rein in his heart and he was shocked to see Thorin mirror his action. The dwarf king made his way down the steps slowly, eyes never leaving his hobbit, until he broke into a run, robes flying and armor clanking.

Bilbo had enough time to suck in a shocked breath as a hard, dwarven body collided with his and impossibly strong arms crushed him to Thorin’s chest. Thorin buried his face in Bilbo’s neck, great heaving gasps wrenching themselves from his body and all the hobbit could do was hang on.

“You’ve come back,” Thorin was murmuring over and over. “My hobbit… you’ve returned to me.”

“I told you I would,” Bilbo sobbed. He didn’t care if tears were flowing freely.

When Thorin moved away enough to take the halfling’s face into his large hands, Bilbo saw streaks of tears on his roughened cheeks as well. Suddenly there as a mouth greedily devouring Bilbo’s and he struggled to match Thorin’s fervor, pushing and pulling at robes and braids and pressing his body flush with the king’s.  

Bilbo gripped the king’s neck as best he could, letting the big dwarf bend him to his will and drink his fill. Soon, the need to breathe took hold and Thorin broke away, panting, as color returned to his complexion.

Bilbo sagged against him, belatedly realizing that they’d been left alone in the great cavern. Thorin ran his hands down Bilbo’s arms, then through his hair, touch starved and needy, like he could not get enough of the hobbit's skin against his.

“You were gone so long,” Thorin’s voice rumbled pleasantly through Bilbo, “I had feared you’d abandoned me.”

Bilbo huffed out a self-deprecating sigh and burrowed into the king’s chest again. Thorin wrapped his bulk around the Halfling, tucking him into his side as they walked from the throne room.

“I’m so very sorry.” It seemed all Bilbo could do was apologize these days. “I didn’t realize how long I’d been gone.”

“Are we so easily forgotten?” Thorin clutched him closer still as they walked, watching closely.

Bilbo reared his head back to look at the king, askance. “No! Never. I just found myself overwhelmed with family and business.” He sagged against Thorin’s side and sniffled miserably, “Oh, Thorin. I didn’t mean to cause you pain. Truly. If I had but known...”

“Peace, beloved,” Thorin rumbled as he pressed a kiss to the crown of Bilbo’s head. “All is well now that you have returned.”

Thorin led him back up the stairwells to a familiar room. The great crystal doors shone brightly and as Thorin opened them onto Bilbo’s garden, the Halfling took a breath and gripped Thorin’s arm hard.

Instead of the desolate place he expected, the garden was in full bloom. Orchids and lupines waved in the slight breeze, the flowing bushes were covered in white flowers and even some of the vines had vivid purple buds on them. Everything was so beautiful he could scarcely breathe.

“I hired a young man from Dale to tend this in your absence,” Thorin said quietly, watching his hobbit’s reaction. “I could not bear to let it fade. It was all I had left of you.”

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed. Looking over the perfectly tended beds and sculpted shrubs, he felt the hot, wet rush of tears flowing down his cheeks

What a fool he’d been to stay away so long, causing such distress to those he loved.  When he thought about how wretched Thorin looked, and the way the princelings worried, he simply could not stand himself.

Bilbo collapsed on one of the stone benches, gathered his knees to his chest, ducked his head and wept bitterly. Thorin rushed to his side, kneeling before his hobbit and tried desperately to comfort him.

“Hush now, Bilbo,” Thorin crooned, reaching to pull the quivering mass of blubbering hobbit into his lap on the warm grass. He arranged his robes around them both and settled his back against the bench. “Stop your tears, beloved.”

Thorin kissed his forehead and cheeks, wiping away the tears he could get to and coaxing the hobbit to look at him. When Bilbo did, Thorin smiled such a beautiful, tender smile that Bilbo felt his chest would burst open.

“I didn’t know,” Bilbo choked out. “I didn’t know what my leaving would do to either of us, about this One business or… oh Thorin, what a wretched fool I was.”

A deep chuckled bubbled up from Thorin’s chest. “I see my nephews have been talking to you about our legends.” He cradled Bilbo to his chest and let out a deep contented sigh.

“They told me that I am your One,” Bilbo said quietly.

“Aye.” Thorin gently tilted Bilbo’s chin up to meet his gaze and smiled. “It seems that our souls were meant to be together, Halfling. Happenstance brought us together but fate meant us to be a Whole.”

Thorin leaned down and sealed his lips over Bilbo’s tenderly. To the end of his days, Bilbo would remember the feeling of rightness overtaking his entire body in that moment and the way Thorin seemed to glow when he pulled back.

“I guess we should thank Gandalf for insisting I be the fourteenth member of your Company,” Bilbo smiled into Thorin’s beard, pressing a series of kisses to the king’s neck.

Thorin made a wanton yet grumbling noise in the back of his throat as Bilbo nipped at the hollow of his neck.

“I’d rather not think about that conniving old wizard having a hand in the fate of my heart, little one.”

Bilbo let the dwarf cradle him in his arms as Thorin explored the tender parts of his neck with his tongue and teeth, until he was squirming restlessly by the time the king pulled away. The passion alight in Thorin’s eyes burned Bilbo to his core. The dwarf took a steadying breath and fished something out of his pocked.

It was a small black box made of polished onyx. Thorin took Bilbo’s hand in his, pressing a kiss to each knuckle before opening the box.

Inside was the most beautiful ring Bilbo had ever laid eyes on. Wrought of silver or some other light-colored alloy, with a perfect sapphire in the middle set with diamonds, the ring sparkled valiantly at him in the setting sun. Thorin took it out and carefully slipped it onto one of Bilbo’s fingers.

“I had it sized for you over a year ago,” Thorin rumbled, eyes never leaving the halfling’s. “I am a fool, knowing my heart for so long yet too craven to act on its desires until now.”

“A year?” Bilbo shuddered and Thorin gripped him tighter. He shook his head and smiled at his One. “We were both foolish, you great stubborn dwarf, dancing around the truth like we did.”

Thorin’s laugh was indulgent and he kissed Bilbo’s hand again.

“Just so, my Halfling.” He looked hesitantly up at his beloved, dipping his head to catch the hobbit’s eyes. “Do you accept?”

“Let us not leave room for misunderstandings this time,” Bilbo said, grinning unabashedly at the confused look on Thorin’s noble brow. “What exactly am I agreeing to? And I _am_ agreeing, just to clear that part up. Whatever it is, yes!”

“You accept my offer of courtship and eventual marriage,” Thorin stated solemnly, though Bilbo could see him trying to reign in the joy threatened to spill out of his every pore.

Gazing up into Thorin’s bright eyes, Bilbo smiled serenely, feeling like something had slotted into place in his chest at last.

“I accept your offer, my king,” Bilbo said formally and sucked in a happy gasp as Thorin swooped down and kissed him with a demanding adoration.

Several long moments later, Bilbo managed to settle against his One’s chest while the great King of Erebor nuzzled his curls. Just as Bilbo was considering straddling the king’s lap to take better advantage of the height distribution there on the ground, someone coughed from the doorway.

The two bond mates looked up to see Kili and Fili, both barely able to hold in their glee. Well, Kili was failing miserably, as his smile could have lit the darkest heart of the mountain.

“Someone was wanting you, Mister Baggins,” Fili said.

“Or should we call you Uncle Bilbo now,” Kili actually giggled.

Thorin sighed indulgently. “Must you always interrupt?”

Both princelings nodded enthusiastically but Bilbo spied a set of large blue eyes peering around Kili’s leg.

“Oh!” he cried. “Thorin, I nearly forgot. I have someone to introduce to you.”

Bilbo ignored the low, frustrated moan that rose from the king as he extricated himself from Thorin’s lap and went to the lads.

Thorin was just brushing his trousers of grass when Bilbo turned around, a tiny hobbit child attached to his leg and looking up at him shyly.

The dwarf’s mouth fell open and Bilbo fought the urge to tell Thorin to stop gawping. It was not as if he'd produced a fairy from thin air – though he supposed in a dwarf kingdom hobbit childeren were indeed a rarity – but he enjoyed the undisguised shock on his king’s face.

“Frodo Baggins,” Bilbo said gently, urging the boy to take a step forward and let go of his leg. “My nephew.”

Frodo looked up and up at the imposing form of the dwarf king and blinked. He clutched Bilbo’s leg a little harder and in a tiny voice he asked, “A-are you the king?”

Thorin’s face softened and he looked up from the child to his beloved One, smiling crookedly. Bilbo had little doubt now that the great dwarf king was just as enchanted with his little Frodo as the princes were.

Then Thorin, son of Thrain bent his knee to put himself at eye level with the little hobbit and gave a slight bow of his head.

“Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,” he said, reaching out to take Frodo’s little hand and smiling warmly. “At your service.”

 

_“Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.”_ Plato, The Symposium.

**~Fin~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait but here is the final chapter! I can't believe how awesome this fandom is and how well received this story has been. You guys are the cheese in my macaroni! I do hope to write another Bagginshield-y fic, perhaps a 5 Times style story if I can ever get it started. 
> 
> In the man time, the hugest and most monstrous thank you to everyone who has read, commented and kudoed. And TROLL SIZED LOVE to my beta Sparklyslug, who continues to be a huge enable on tumblr for more fic. 
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at Alamogirl80. I love chatting and fangirling with everyone!


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